


Some Assembly Required

by Petrichor_Amber



Series: Some Assembly Required [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic John, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Balthazar is a magnificent twat, Big Brother!Dean, Bunches, Christmas baking, Cicero - Freeform, Conference, Cooking is love, Costumes, Crippling self-loathing, Dean all dressed up, Dean has a crush but doesn't get that cause he's thickity thick thick, Dean makes burgers, Giggling, Guilt, Halloween, I warned you I’d nerd out hard, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jess somehow manages to get her way about everything, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kinda?, Latin, Learning to talk about feelings, Legos, Light BDSM, Like, Make up sex, Masturbation, Mechanic Dean, Meet the Family, Miscommunication, Multi, Or at least shitty things, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Peace Offerings, Pie, Poppa Bobby, Professor Castiel, Ravioli, Reckless Driving, Roadtrips, Roman legal system, Roman oratory, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sam Ships It, Scheming, Slow Burn, Sneaky!Ellen, Student Sam, The Big Lebowski - Freeform, Things I have literally seen on campus, academics are people too, baby!sammy, basically a bunch of shitty dads, brothers always know, brothers being brothers, but that doesn't mean academia isn't weird as fuck, cause nerds, cause still nerds, civil war battle reenactments, dean's big gay freakout, disgruntled Cas becomes gruntled, domestic!Dean, firefly flails, food is love, grading ruins any fun, if they can break the fourth wall then so can I, instant regret and guilt, my job is weird, nerding out, no one can hurt you like family, physically abusive brother, roadtrip singalong, romans, ruined coffee, sharing a room is awkward, subtle like a brick to the head, suspicious absenses, thank god for marvel teasers, the most enthsiastic consent ever, the special hell, these idiots finally touch, tipsy!Cas, yes I'm a nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:03:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 67,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7304380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petrichor_Amber/pseuds/Petrichor_Amber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam starts university Dean worries he's never going to see him anymore, so he starts meeting up with him on campus. While there he meets Sam's awkward and intriguing Latin prof and the two begin an unlikely friendship. Through beers, confessions, and a few adventures the two may help each other put their lives back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting a new chapter Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Story completed, just doing final revisions, so I won't leave you out in the WIP cold!!! Characters and tags will be added each chapter as appropriate.

“So you’re telling me that you’re going to miss dinner every Tuesday and Thursday night, all term long?” Dean snaps at his younger brother, who’s tearing around the house throwing books into a backpack. Kid’s a giant now. Dean’s not too sure when that happened, but him running around the house is truly something to behold.

Sam sighs in exasperation. “Dean, I’m not a kid anymore. It’s just twice a week, it’s not a big deal. Look, we can do a big breakfast every Sunday to make up for it, ok?”

But it is a huge deal, to Dean anyways. They’d been having family dinners together since, well, as long as Dean can remember. Granted, in their house “family dinners” originally meant Dean reheating something while their dad lay passed out on the couch, but he and Sam always ate dinner together. It hadn’t always been meals like that though. When he was really young Mom cooked, preparing delicious meals that made you feel loved right down to your toes, and steaming desserts that tasted like home. Even when Dad had battles to fight he always made sure he was home in time to join them at the table. Nice thing about civil war re-enactment battles in the 1980s was you could be home in time for dinner. Then everything changed, and dinners stopped for a while, but as soon as Dean was old enough to open a can of soup they began again, and he never let them slip through his fingers again. Over the years Dean learned to cook rather than just reheat, and soon their dinners were elaborate, delicious meals, casseroles and homemade burgers and chilli from scratch. No matter what else was going on, every weeknight they took time out to spend with each other, to be a family, even if that was just the two of them, and about once or twice a month they did dinner on Sunday over at the salvage yard. 

So ya, Sam casually mentioning that he was going to be skipping damn near half of them was a pretty big deal. But he was right, as much as Dean hated admitting it. He isn’t a kid anymore, he’s starting university and looking at law school after that, and Dean has to start wrapping his head around that. He looks at the hair that’s too long and the innocent hope in his brother’s face, and he caves.

“Alright, if you make breakfast Sundays, fine. And it can’t just be cereal either!” He warns, eliciting a giant smile from his oaf of a brother, and a quick hug before he runs out the door for class.

 

*          *          *

 

When Dean realized later that week that Thursday nights Sam has a class from 7-10 pm, he suggested they compromise and do an early dinner together on campus. That way Sam doesn’t have to worry about timing, and they only miss out on Tuesdays, when Sam has classes from noon till 8:30 almost non-stop. That’s the problem with first year, and taking classes from a variety of departments: the scheduling sucks. Dean tried to point this out to Sam during registration but the big nerd didn’t hear one word and signed up for the most random cross section of courses. But Sam did agree to Dean’s idea for Thursdays, so they make it the official plan for the term.

He doesn’t have to wander around campus much to find the place Sam described, since it’s thankfully right near the parking lot he was told to use. _Alright, Sammy, you got that one right,_ he thinks, though he’d never say it out loud. He enters the place and sees that they have a burger and beer special Thursdays for just 7 bucks. Ok, two points Sam. As he checks out the crowd, they seem more chill than most of the kids Sam’s age he’s seen around. He sits down at the table Sam’s waving from and mentions it to him.

“Right? I knew you’d like it. So get this, there’s a campus bar where the undergrads hang out, but this one is mostly grad students and profs, so I thought you’d be more comfortable here. Fewer obnoxious drunk 18 year olds, which I’m pretty sure you only like when they’re on your laptop, despite what you say. Plus they apparently have incredible bacon cheeseburgers,” he’s grinning ear to ear, and Dean can’t help but appreciate how thoughtful Sam’s being. Like hell he’s going to say something though. Maybe this new arrangement won’t be too bad after all.

“Well, as much as I love feisty drunk co-eds, I think I’m feeling more like a burger tonight.” Sam beams at his brother’s approval, and Dean just chuckles, shaking his head at how ridiculous his giant baby brother has become. When the food comes there’s a brief pause in the conversation while Dean moans around his burger, which really is pretty awesome. Plus the fries are out of this world. Ignoring his brother’s scandalized face Dean keeps shovelling down his meal, washing it back with something local and organic and whatever that Sam asked the waiter to recommend and which Dean only accepted because it was on special.

They spend the evening casually chatting, Sam gushing about all his new classes and teachers, what assignments he’s already looking forward to completing, and debating which extra-curriculars he’s going to join. Dean has to hand it to him, kid knows what he’s doing. Just because Dean’s never applied for university doesn’t mean he doesn’t get the game. Hell, he spent most of high-school careful constructing an identity that was basically the exact opposite of That Guy, so he had to do some research to make sure he played the part convincingly. Regardless, he knows that Sam’s doing this right, making sure he’s got a well-rounded application and the whole nine. He listens to him chatter away, takes a swig of his beer, and smiles, actually content, and so stupid proud of his dumb brother.

 

*          *          *

 

True to his word, Sam wakes Dean up Sunday to the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee, and Dean starts to think maybe Sam should take more night classes, cause he could get used to this. Granted the eggs are a bit runny and the bacon’s a bit burnt, but hey, Sam’s still new to this, and for a beginner it’s not bad. Next weekend he’ll supervise and make a couple of gentle suggestions in his thoughtful, subtle way. What else are big brothers for, right? For now Dean just asks Sam about his first week as they sit at the table armed with more food than two normal humans could eat and Sam starts gushing. Even though he talked Dean’s ear off with this crap on Thursday, he’s somehow got a new arsenal of nerd news that he can’t wait to share.

“Right, so there’s this class on Greek and Latin in scientific and legal terminology, but I didn’t think that would be in-depth enough, so I’m taking pure Latin too, and it’s awesome. And I’m taking Psych, and the prof seems totally insane, so that should be cool. And then Intro History is already fascinating, I can’t wait to get further into that. And of course Sociology is the best!” Dean’s trying to process this onslaught of information, trying to grasp how exactly it’s possible that his brother is this huge a nerd, when he suddenly remembers a conversation they had in the spring when Sam was picking classes.

“Wait a minute, a few months back you told me Sociology was dumb, that there’s no way you’d ever take that, and how soft sciences are, and I quote, the lamest. And now, “it’s the best”?” Dean shoots Sam the incredibly condescending look that older siblings are taught by some mysterious stranger the day their parents bring a new baby home.

Sam sighs exasperated, like Dean’s so dense he could never possibly understand. Assuming patented Bitch Face #17 he enunciates extra clearly. “I can change my mind, ok? I was talking to this girl who made it sound really interesting, and she-”

“Ooooh,” Sam can’t finish due to the increasing cackle of his brother’s chuckle.

“Dean what’s so funny, why are you being so-?”

“ _I was talking to this girl_? Really Sammy? And you can’t figure it out?” Sam just sighs again, as if somehow deflating will force Dean to surrender. It doesn’t work. “99% of all the decisions a man ever makes are to get laid. Looks like you just found your motivation.”

“Dean, that’s disgusting. You’re so immature, oh my god! Jessica’s really smart, ok, and super friendly, and she’s helping me with our first assignment and WHAT?” Sam interrupts himself in response to Dean’s ridiculous face. He’s wagging his eyebrows at a rate that is frankly alarming and poking Sam in the ribs, which is apparently more than his little brother is willing to endure.

“Jessica.” Dean snorts out, bursting into peals of laughter again. He can see how worked up Sammy’s getting, and it’s just so easy. Kid has no idea he’s already totally smitten.

“Know what? I’m done anyway.” And with that Sam lets his dish clatter into the sink and stomps up to his room, clearly demonstrating to Dean how a mature adult should handle an altercation.

 

*          *          *

 

Next Thursday Dean gets to the bar a little early, and as he’s waiting for Sam to show up he notices a box of trivial pursuit cards on the table. He starts idly flipping through them, and doesn’t notice Sam until he’s right there in front of him and suddenly hears him talking to someone else.

“Thanks professor, I’m just having a tough time with the irregular verbs,” he hears him say, and he rolls his eyes. How on earth is his brother such a nerd? He’s about to make fun of him when Sam says “Oh, Professor Novak, this is my brother Dean.”

Dean looks over on cue, and suddenly finds himself at a loss for words. The man standing in front of him is basically his age, with the most intensely ruffled dark hair and piercing eyes that seem to shine despite the softly lit room. He’s wearing dark slacks, a white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and a loosened cobalt tie that basically forms a giant arrow pointing to the matching eyes that bore into him.

“Hello Dean,” he says, sticking out his hand. Dean tries pretending like that voice isn’t low and incredible enough to actually send a shiver down his spine. He gets a hold of himself, realising he’s being a bit too awkward.

“Uh, hi. Nice to meet one of Sam’s profs.” Dean shakes the proffered hand and feels incredibly vulnerable under the intense gaze of those piercing eyes.

“Dean, Professor Novak is my Latin teacher, he was just clarifying some grammar for me.” Sam’s beaming as he sits down across from Dean, and Dean can’t understand how on earth Latin grammar can be so exciting, but whatever, Sam’s weird.

“Cool. Thanks for, ah, helping him out. Lord knows I wouldn’t be able to help him with that crap.” Dean gestures towards Sam with his head, noticing that this guy is still holding his hand, still staring at him. Dean’s getting increasingly uncomfortable and isn’t sure how exactly to fix this. Then he realises what he just said. “Not that what you do is crap, just, uh, I’m not much for the academic type, I mean, stuff, and, uh, I just. Crap. Thanks?”

Professor Novak is looking at him with a nerve-wracking combination of judgement and bemusement, but finally lets go of his hand and answers “Of course.” Of course what? What had he even said? Was he an ass? Oh god that voice. What the hell is up with him? Dean tries to shake it off as Sam and his prof part ways, and Dean notices he wanders off and sits alone a few tables over, rests his trench coat and briefcase on the chair beside him and pulls out a book.

“I love him, he’s the best!” Dean’s wrenched back to his reality by Sam’s gushing. “He just makes everything so clear, it’s really helpful.” Sam’s beaming at Dean as he opens a menu, and is still clearly waiting for a response when he reaches for his water glass. Dean can feel the expectation weighing on him and finally caves.

“Ok, awesome!” Dean says, with as much sarcasm as he can fit into two words. He tries to focus on Sam’s updates, on everything that happened today, but it’s harder than usual. They manage to eat dinner with the usual amount of chatter, but Dean can’t help glancing at the man eating alone, reading, three tables over and a million miles away.

 

*          *          *

 

It’s late September, and they’ve fallen into a comfortable routine of dinners on campus every Thursday and bonus breakfasts Sunday. They honestly used to do that most of the time anyway, but now Dean doesn’t have to cook, so win-win. Thursdays they usually bump into Professor Novak, and Dean always tries to nod and say hey to the guy. He’s often nervous as hell for some reason, probably cause the guy’s a big fancy professor and he’s just a two-bit mechanic, and that’s actually pretty fucking intimidating. But if he’s honest he also kinda feels sorry for him, sitting alone week after week while he and Sammy are having a great time just feet away.

Apparently Sam’s noticed the same thing, at least the solitary part, hopefully not the intimidation part, because goddamnit there are things little brothers do not need to know about. Anyway, tonight Sam enters the pub with his prof as usual, but as they approach the table Sam’s still talking the guy’s ear off. When he gets to the table Sam sits down across from Dean, except not directly across, and then to Dean’s horror gestures to the bench beside him and asks “Professor, if you’d like to join us, I’m sure my brother wouldn’t mind. I mean, if that’s not a conflict of interest or anything?”

The man looks from one brother to the other, appraising the situation. Dean prays the panic he’s feeling doesn’t show on his face while he tries to play it cool, pretending it’s no big deal. He tries to force his muscles to form an approximation of _Ya, I totally don’t mind. You’re just way smarter than me and I’m sure I’ll have absolutely nothing to contribute to this conversation but you seem not totally horrible so ya, join us._ Maybe not all that. Maybe he actually managed to shut his expression up before it ran away like that, even if he couldn’t silence his brain. Maybe he even succeeded, since the man finally answers in that incredible baritone “No, I can eat with you Sam. Just don’t think I’ll give you an A because of it."

Dean chuckles, thinking this might not actually be too bad. Dude seems alright. Sam slides over and his teacher sits down beside him, ending up directly across from Dean. He looks up at him and says simply “Castiel,” then nods once. Whoa, thinks Dean, that’s a pretty awesome name; sounds like the kind of name some badass lone wolf hero would have in a dystopic novel. He wonders if Castiel can fight, whether he’d be able to hold his own in some kind of apocalyptic showdown, and kind wants to ask him. But he realises that’d be random as hell so all he does is nod back, take a swig of beer, and tell his brain to shut the fuck up. 

Most of the evening passes with Sam and Castiel nerding out about Latin, but Dean’s content just to hang out with his brother, even if it is shared. He’s so damn proud that the kid understands all this nerdy crap that he can sit there enjoying him enjoying it, even if he doesn’t understand most of what’s happening. At the end of the evening Castiel goes to leave, and Sam actually stands up and says “Well, we’re here every Thursday if you ever want the company.” Dean cannot believe his brother is such a suck up, but he lets it pass and just adds his agreement to try and save the kid some face. Professor Novak – Castiel – smiles and leaves.

“What the hell, Sam? Why would you do that?” Dean runs a hand over his face like he can scrub away how nervous the man makes him feel. Unfortunately, no such luck.

“Guy told me his family all live abroad, and he’s new to town. I just thought it would be nice. You don’t mind do you?” Sam looks at him with those sweet puppy dog eyes and Dean just melts, even though he doesn’t dare let Sam know.

“No, it’s fine, I just…It’s fine.” And Sam nods, as if that’s that. Son a bitch, Sammy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set at a university campus and focuses on nerds learning stuffs. There will be bunches of silly nerding because that's basically what I live for and sorry not sorry you've apparently decided to join me for that! 
> 
> P.S. Upon reviewing the tags it kinda sounds like there are Romans in this fic, which is misleading. I apologize for that. There's talk _about_ Romans, but not actual Romans running about. Which could be fun, but not what this one's about. This is the tale of two hot dorks who can't see what's in front of them, not invasion of the hot Italians. I do have a nugget of an idea for a Roman hunter in the 2nd century CE but that's for another day!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh!!!! You've all left so many lovely comments and I'm already so so glad I decided to post this fic after all. You guys are what keep me doing this, thank you for the kudos and comments and love!!!

Friday morning Dean arrives at the shop smiling and sipping his coffee when he hears the distinctly misleadingly sweet voice of his boss. “Morning Dean, what exactly you so damn pleased about?” Ellen is standing there hands on her hips, glaring suspiciously. Dean has no idea what she might mean, and says as much. “Mmmhmmm? It’s before 10 and you’re both smiling and drinking your coffee like an actual beverage instead of as a caffeine delivery system. You get laid last night?”

“Damnit Ellen!” Dean’s just spat out his coffee, burning his mouth and lips slightly. “No, I didn’t, not that it’s any of your business.” He mumbles the last bit, but catches himself under her inquisitive glare. “I had a nice dinner with Sam last night that’s all. I met one of his teachers and it was a nice evening.”

“ _Nice?_ ” Ellen repeats the word back, and Dean realises too late that he probably should have expanded his vocabulary if he wanted to sound convincing. Or at least not said ‘nice’ twice in one goddamn breath.

“Oh come on, lay off. It was just a really comfortable evening, and it’s...” _Don’t say it, don’t say nice._ He looks down at his coffee for a second before looking up again. “It’s really rewarding seeing Sam fit in so well at school, to see him doing succeeding.” He knows it sounds dumb, and braces himself for Ellen’s sarcastic remark.

But Ellen just comes over and places her hand on his shoulder. “Of course he is honey, he’s had an excellent role model.” She smiles at him sadly and pats him before heading back to the office, and Dean gets to work on the first car of the day. She’s right, of course; Bobby’s been a hell of a role model for them both, hell he’s basically been their dad ever since… Well, since that night. But Bobby never went to university or hung out with teachers, so Dean doesn’t really understand how Ellen’s comment relates. He shrugs it off though, it’s not like it matters really.

He gets a text from Sam just as he’s finishing up at work.

_> >>Any chance you’ve got plans tonight?_

_< <<Nope, what are you up to?_

Dean may technically be Sam’s brother, but he’s four years older and raised him almost as if he were his own for as long as he can remember, so he knows the kid’s tricks pretty well.

_> >No big deal. Um, can you promise to be cool tonight?_

Uh oh. This keeps getting worse and worse.

_< <<Not till you tell me what the hell is going on Sammy._

Dean waits for what seems like a very, very long time, long enough for Sam to be concocting an elaborate story involving a midterm and an elephant and some kind of rare vase, when his phone vibrates again.

_> >>Goddamnit. I invited Jessica over to watch a movie. Please don’t be a dick._

Well now. That is an interesting development. Dean thinks for a second about all the hilarious things he could do to embarrass Sam, all the stories he could tell this random chick, and he grins to himself as he clocks out, changes, and says goodnight to Bobby. But then he remembers the stupid grin on Sam’s face talking about goddamn Sociology. Son of a bitch. This girl seriously better be worth it.

Given this new information Dean decides he’ll have to stop off on his way home to pick up a couple of things. If he’s not going to haze the poor girl he might as well try to impress her.

 

*          *          *

 

“Sammy! Get your ass out here and help me unload!” Dean’s grinning to himself as he opens the front door and hears the tell-tale sounds of a distracted, flustered teen jumping off a couch and trying not to reveal any intentions, even though they’re plain as day anyway, and tries to hide that grin as Sam reaches the door. “There’s beer and more groceries in the car.”

“Dean, what on earth are you doing?”

“I thought I’d make burgers.”

Sam’s mouth moves up and down as if he’s a dummy whose ventriloquist just forgot every word they’d ever known. “You thought…burgers? But burgers are your special occasion meal? What…? No, Dean, we were just going to order pizza.”

“Sam, don’t be ridiculous, homemade burgers sound way better.” Dean looks over to see a cute blonde bouncing over to Sam and wrapping her hands around his arm. They actually look really sweet together, but Dean would rather learn Latin himself than tell them that, so he just smiles at her and nods.

“You must be Jessica. Dean,” he offers his hand, and grins at Sam. “I like her already.”

“Dean, no, just, no.” He trails off, looking from one to the other and realizing there’s no way he can win this. “Fine! We’ll have burgers.”

“Awesome. Start slicing onions.”

The evening goes really well, and as much as Dean was ready to tease her, he’s actually finding Jessica pretty cool. She’s clearly smart, and passionate, and she can’t stop looking at Sam adoringly, so he knows that’s good. When they finish dinner and she gets up to clear the table, Dean stops her, and then surprises himself by realizing that he really does like her, that it wasn’t just a hollow line he threw at Sam. Dean can already see how she could fit in here, should this get serious. It’s a strange thought, thinking of somebody else in their home, fitting into their dynamic, but seeing how Sam beams at her, he can’t help thinking it wouldn’t be all bad. And then Sam turns towards Dean and pointedly stares. Dean stares back. Sam’s stare intensifies. Dean thinks about teasing him for a bit, pretending to actually be that obtuse, but he can take a hint and thinks maybe Jessica deserves it.

“Well kids, I think I’m going to go for a drive.” He chuckles inwardly, as Sam nods gravely, making it very clear that even with burgers, he’s overstayed his welcome.

“What? No! You can’t! You have to stay! You just made us the most delicious burgers I think I’ve ever had, and there’s plenty of popcorn, and it’s Die Hard, come on Dean! Sam, tell him!” Dean smiles as he nearly hears the punctuation in her entreaty.

“First of all, they were definitely the best damn burgers you’ve ever had, trust me. Secondly, I only watch Die Hard at Christmas. Besides, I’m meeting a friend for drinks.” _Really, Dean, that’s the best you can come up with?_ “Plus this way you can do the dishes in peace. Anyway, you guys have fun and I’ll catch you later. It was cool to meet you Jessica, come by anytime.”

“Why thank you Dean, I think I may just do that.” Jessica’s smiling so hard Dean’s sure she’s going to hurt herself and Sam’s glowering at him, but as soon as he turns to her, his face melts and he sees Sam’s mouth broaden in a huge grin. This, thinks Dean, chest swelling with pride, this is what makes all the bad times worth it.

“See ya!” He’s already out the door when he hears Sam’s distracted farewell.

He drives around for a while, no particular destination in mind, just clearing his thoughts and hoping to kill enough time so that he doesn’t walk in on his brother in the middle of anything. Not that Sammy’s the kind of kid to get into the middle of anything on the first date, but Dean doesn’t really want to push that assumption too far. Kid _is_ in university now.

He suddenly realizes he’s ended up near campus, and figures he might as well check out what a university looks like on a Friday night. Will this truly be an Animal House moment, or is it still just the same nerdy place he’s visited before, but dark now? Dean drives around slowly, soon noticing that most pedestrians are not walking in the steadiest of lines, and he begins to fear they might careen into his path at any moment. So far he’s passed a pack of twenty kids wearing lime green shirts that say “Archaeologists do it in the field,” a couple dozen varsity jocks in letterman jackets, and countless pairs, triplets, and foursomes of girls in miniskirts and high heels heading to the bus exchange, lipsticked and hairsprayed within an inch of their life, clearly on their way to a wild night out. For half a second Dean thinks about just inviting himself, of tagging along, getting drunk, maybe going home with one of them. But he stops himself. Can’t think like that, not anymore, not again. Not since… He just…Can’t.

As he’s shaking his head to clear his thoughts he notices something familiar out of the corner of his eye. Looking through the glass, Dean realizes it’s a trench coat, tossed over the back of a chair, and opposite that chair is Sam’s teacher, the guy with the badass name. What was it, Castiel? He’s sitting in a café on campus, at 9 pm on a Friday, reading a book and taking notes. Jesus, thinks Dean, no wonder the guy looks high strung. He works all the time. Dean is about to go park and say hi when he realizes just how incredibly weird that would look, and how the guy might read something into it, and anyway he’s Sam’s teacher, so that might affect his grade, and before that train can smash one more car into the wreck in his mind Dean shifts back into drive and rumbles off in his Impala, searching for a less distracting place to kill time.

 

*          *          *

 

The next Thursday Dean gets to the pub a little early, as has been the case every week, goes and grabs their usual booth, and waits for his brother. He drums on the table in time to the Zepplin song playing in the background, and takes in the other patrons, checking out who’s studying, who’s just drinking, and who looks like they’re too tired to decide between the two anymore.

“Hello Dean.” Holy crap where did he even come from? Dean jumps a little but tries to regain his composure as he takes in the stunning creature who just appeared before him. Wait, did he just think _stunning!?! What the actual Winchester?!?_ _It’s ok, just stay calm and you can come back from this, it’s not like he can read minds. Besides, it’s not your fault, he’s wearing a pale blue dress shirt and no tie and sporting the worst sex-hair ever. Crap have you answered yet? What is wrong with you, answer him, say something clever!_

“Hey Cas.” _Genius. Inspiring. You haven’t even gotten permission to call him that you moron._ The nickname elicits a raised eyebrow, but no protest, so Dean feels he’s probably not crossed a line. “So, uh, Sam’s not with you?” Obviously. Sam’s almost six and half feet tall, it’s not exactly like he could be hiding behind his Latin professor.

“Apparently not. I assumed he was meeting us here.” He gestures at the seat opposite as if in question. Well, at least Dr. Smarty Pants PhD also asks stupid ass-questions and thinks regular sized humans have the ability to conceal the behemoth that is Sam Winchester. Dean nods back though and gestures in return, so Castiel sits down and orders a beer. After five minutes of awkward silence he looks at Dean and observes, “Strange, Sam does not usually have a problem with tardiness.”

No, he really doesn’t, thinks Dean. Hmmm. He decides it’s about damn time to text him and call him on this.

_> >What the hell Sammy, where are you?_

Almost instantly his phone vibrates with a response.

_< <Sorry, lost track of time. I’m trying to crank out a paper for tomorrow, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it._

Dean rereads the message three times before he starts to believe it. Then he clears his throat, and says “It seems that Sam has a paper due tomorrow he needs to work on, and isn’t coming.” Dean starts considering the options, but this guy seems nice enough, and they have already ordered beers. “I’m, uh, I’m cool to stay anyway. I mean, if you want? Gotta eat, right?”

Castiel considers this, then nods once, with a finality way beyond dinner. “That would be pleasant, thank you.” He sits forward in his seat, forearms resting on the table, and Dean suddenly feels like he’s on display, like he needs to come up with something to do.

“Cool.” Dean needs to work on his conversational skills, this really isn’t up to par. He decides to try talking about the guy’s job, cause that’s what you do with strangers, right? Small talk about work?

“Are you also a student?” Oh. Apparently Cas also got the awkward bulletin and is trying to salvage this situation. Well, it’s something. Dean can work with this, or can at least lead it to something he can talk about.

“Nah, hell no. I wasn’t kidding last week about all that academic stuff. School’s not really my thing. I run a shop downtown, fix up classic cars. I work with my uncle.” Since when does he share so much? Oh well, he’s starting to feel comfortable around the guy, and finds himself opening up more than usual.

“Intriguing. Would I be right in assuming then that you yourself have some sort of classic vehicle?” Formal much? This dude really does just hang out in his ivory tower.

“Oh ya, I’ve got my Baby. A fully restored ’67 Chevy Impala. She’s a thing of beauty.” He smiles proudly at the thought of the car he’s kept running come hell or high water for years now, ever since it became his when, well, that part doesn’t matter. Thankfully the waitress brings them another round and takes their orders, and Dean can avoid any follow-up on that topic. The waitress comes back and he orders the bacon cheeseburger again, while Cas orders some vegetarian pasta dish. _Weirdo_ , Dean thinks, but he tries to go back to the small talk they had almost successfully initiated.

“So, uh, Cas?” He pauses after using the shortened form again, confirming that it is, in fact, acceptable. Castiel nods and gestures with his hand holding his beer in a benevolent manner of approval, so Dean continues. “What do you do, other than teach Latin?” Two can play this game, and he’s finding himself genuinely curious about this strange man. And he’s pretty sure that teaching three hours a week doesn’t count as full-time, or necessitate being on campus that late on a Friday.

“I’m teaching while working on my doctorate. I’m studying Oration and Rhetoric during the Roman Republic.” Huh, turns out it’s actually _Mr_. Smarty-Pants. Cas rattles the answer off quickly, like it’s his address, and Dean can only assume he’s had this conversation hundreds of times. This is, however, the first Dean’s ever heard of it, and he’s not entirely sure what that even is.

“Wait, what do you study?” Dean heard him, but that doesn’t mean he has any clue what the hell he meant by it. The man across from him sighs, and loads his second shot into the barrel. Clearly he has had this conversation umpteen times.

“I study how Roman politicians and lawyers spoke in public. It’s called oratory, it’s what I’m examining for my dissertation.” Ok that made more sense, but still.

“So, you’ve spent, five? six? years of your life studying how dudes talked two thousand years ago?” Dean tries to paraphrase, tries to translate it to something he can grasp, and waits for Cas’ reaction, worried he may have upset him with this brash summary of his life.

Cas looks a little ruffled, but he’s clearly used to justifying this, so he calmly replies “Seven. Seven years. I’m finishing up my doctorate, and once I submit my dissertation, and pass my defense, I will have my Ph.D. And yes.” He’s leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest, and Dean can instantly see that Cas took what he said as a condemnation, and he wants to fix that. Immediately. He’s not even sure why.

“No, I’m not, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just. I’ve never met anyone who cared about learning enough to want to spend three extra shifts in school. Or who could study one tiny thing for seven freaking years. Hell, I only have my GED, so I really can’t understand.” He sees Cas look down, somewhat defeated. He can’t stand it. He barely knows this guy, but he feels like the biggest asshole right now. He tries to make it better. “But, uh, I’d like to."

Cas lights up. His smile is beautiful; it crinkles his eyes and completely transforms his face, which, let’s be honest, was pretty incredible even before he smiled. Dean tries not to focus on that while talking to Sam’s teacher though, because nope nope nope, that’s not his thing and even if it were this would be the last guy he should find attractive. He steadfastly refuses to pay attention to the corner of his brain tapping him on the shoulder and trying to remind him of his inner monologue the past few Thursdays. Instead he asks, “So, uh, why, why do you like this stuff? I mean, what about it grabbed you so bad you had to spend all this time studying it?”

From his reaction Dean has to assume that most people ask Castiel what job he’s going to get, or how this is relevant for today. Apparently asking why he loves it, what motivates him, makes him come alive and Dean can see it happening. “I’ve always found Roman oratory fascinating. It’s a social structure, an established order, and within that system demagogues had the creative license to express themselves fully, with levels of nuance we can’t even comprehend. I find it liberating.” Cas is actually a bit flushed from spitting all that out in one breath, and it puts Dean on edge somehow.

“You think having to play by a bunch of rules is _liberating_?” Dean must have misunderstood. Who wants to play by the rules? Who wants even more rules in their life? Guy must be crazy. 

“I think _knowing_ the rules would be liberating. Knowing, in any social interaction, what you’re allowed to say, what you should be doing with your mouth, or with your hands, knowing how all of that can combine to convey layers upon layers of meaning,” he looks down through dark lashes, finishing quietly. “I think it would be reassuring.” He’s blushing now, as if he’s shared something deeply personal or embarrassing, though Dean can’t see how. It’s not too weird to like to know where you stand, what’s going on. To be able to communicate succinctly what’s admissible. He can get see the appeal. He swallows hard, and suddenly feels a bit self-conscious himself, though he’s not sure why that is either.

Dean nods appreciatively. “Ok, ya, I can get that. Knowing where the line is, that’s useful information. Like sexy rules, right? Haha.” Shit. Was _that_ what he had been blushing about? Why the hell did he say that out loud? He realises instantly that was possibly the weirdest thing he could have said, so he quickly tries to shift gears. “Was there, I dunno, like a rating system, like you couldn’t swear in the senate but you could in a courthouse, or whatever?” He sees Cas chuckle a little to himself, and shake his head.

“No, not rules like that. More like… like in a dance contest, where certain moves require specifics postures, specific stances, and those individual moves are appraised; but the dancers can combine them, as long as they are executed accurately, into any dance routine they choose.” He shakes his head softly then looks up, piercing Dean with that intense gaze of his. “Does that make any sense?” He’s clearly honestly trying to explain it to Dean, who nods, grateful for that effort. Dean knows that he’s made it clear to Cas that he while he in no way gets the whole school thing, he does respect it. And he kinda sorta gets this oratory thing. He can’t possibly imagine how much this fact intrigues Cas, but he seems to understand that it’s appreciated.

Their food arrives and they spend the rest of the meal chatting about what Castiel loves about Roman oratory and what Dean loves about classic cars, and it’s not as awkward as Dean thought it would be. If he’s honest with himself, he actually has a really pleasant evening, and by the time he gets home he doesn’t even want to punch Sam in the face any longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes home to find Jessica has taken over their kitchen, but he can't really complain given how much he secretly enjoys it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! You guys have written so many nice things already and I love you for it, thank you! Hope you enjoy this chapter that also features Ellen being super mom-ish and Bobby being a billion percent done with Dean's BS (because of COURSE he is). 
> 
> Endless and eternal thankyous to [Dangerousnotbroken ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic and making it much better! You're amazing and I love you doll!!!!

The next night Dean drives home from work ready to relax and enjoy the weekend. It’s been a long, fairly weird week, especially after that stunt Sam pulled yesterday, and he’s looking forward to unwinding. To his immense surprise and confusion upon opening the front door he is greeted by a decadent scent, a warm tomato smell that just feels like home. As he walks into the kitchen he sees Sam sitting at the table making a salad, and Jess fussing near the stove, flitting around the kitchen as if she owned the joint.

“Oh good, you’re home. Hi Dean!” She says it with the same authority that she has moving about the room, and he’s a bit taken aback by her confidence. Dean looks at Sam questioningly, but he just smiles and shrugs his shoulders, clearly having surrendered and taken her side. 

“Uh, hey Jessica. What –” He starts, hammering out the words while she continues to fly about the place, hardly stopping to breathe, but she cuts him off before he can finish.

“Jess, please.” She interrupts him with the same bravado, something he’s always admired about himself, but can finally see why it irritates so many people.

“Ok, Jess. Not that you aren’t welcome, but, somebody mind explaining what the hell’s going on here?” He’s staring from Sam to Jess to the salad to the stove and he can see the oven’s on and he just wants some goddamn answers.

“Well I wanted to repay you for the other week. It was so sweet of you to make us burgers, and you really made me feel welcome, which was awesome, because from everything Sam’s said, I was pretty intimidated to meet you. I mean, you basically raised him! So I decided to make my grandmother’s famous lasagne to say thank you.” She finally stops for a moment, turns around, and then to his immense surprise walks right up and kisses him on the cheek. He looks to Sam for reinforcement, but his face is twisted into a look of disgust and confusion. He doesn’t know whether he’s more surprised by Jess kissing him or by the fact that Sam told her he raised him. Both are very, very new to him, and equally uncomfortable in that they reflect some major emotions. Sure he sometimes feels like he raised Sammy, but he never dreamed that anyone else ever thought about it like that. A teeny part of him can’t help but beam in pride all the same at her words.

“Well, alright, if you insist. But I ain’t eating that rabbit food.” He gestures disdainfully towards his brother and the enormous salad he’s just finished dressing. He goes to grab plates and utensils, but Jess ‘tuts’ him and makes him sit down while she does. Sam and Dean exchange looks of bemused terror at having their home so thoroughly taken over. She goes to the fridge and returns to the table with two beers which she places in from of either brother. Dean’s about to give Sam the “you’re too young” talk when he’s cut off by Jess’ melodious voice, friendly but firm.

“Dean Winchester, you’ll either eat the salad and the lasagne, or you won’t eat either.” She holds his eyes while he says it, with an authority at odds with the fact that she’s four years his junior and in his house. There’s a moment of tension where Sam is clearly worried she’s overstepped her bounds, but the Dean laughs and raises his beer to her before knocking back a swig. And just like that, she’s in. Dean looks at Sam and nods, chuckling aloud at how easily she fits in to their strange family, and takes another sip of beer through his smile.

Dinner is delicious, Jess wasn’t kidding. The salad isn’t even that bad, between the garlic and fresh parmesan she actually grated before dinner, and her lasagne really is amazing; layers of stringy cheese and homemade marinara mixed with chopped up fresh basil and a layer of cheesy creamy goodness. It’s so tasty Dean actually goes back for thirds, despite Sam’s sighs of judgement. They’re sopping up the last bits of sauce with rolls Jessica snuck onto the table at some point before Sam apologizes for the night before.

“Ya about that Sam, what the hell happened?” Sam has a strange face on, and Dean can’t place it, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s probably just the face of a guy juggling school and home and a new girlfriend and a fairly bossy big brother, if we’re going to be perfectly honest about things. But then it shifts and he looks down, shaking his head slightly while an awkward smile appears and his cheeks colour ever so slightly. The last time Sammy pulled that combo was when Dean found a stray dog in Sam’s bedroom and he adamantly refused to have any knowledge on how this mutt broke into their locked home, opened Sam’s bedroom door, got himself a bowl full of water, and then closed the bedroom door again for good measure. But considering there’s no dogs around, or missing cookie jars, Dean’s stumped as to what it could mean.

“Sorry Dean, the teacher sprung it on us at the last minute, and it was worth 15% of my grade, so I really needed to do well. Did Professor Novak complain about having to go back to his office when I didn’t show?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably, unsure why it feels weird to tell Sam this. He can’t quite find the words, but tries to get it out anyway. “Actually, we, uh… Well we were both there already anyway, and, uh, well, gotta eat, right?”

Sam smiles at him, eyebrows raised as if he’s trying to make sure he understood. “So, you ate dinner alone with my Latin teacher? What did you two even talk about?” This raises Dean’s hackles.

“What? I may not be a snot-nosed nerd like you, but I can talk about stuff with a dude like that. We talked about a bunch of things. He told me about his research, I told him about working at the shop, it was nice.” _Goddamnit he has got to stop saying “nice.”_ Sam’s still grinning at him like a know-it all, so he decides to up the ante. “Alright genius, what do you know about Roman oratory?”

The look on Sam’s face falters for just a second before it returns ten-fold, and it vaguely occurs to Dean that Sam’s brain is fighting between wanting to be the smartest and wanting to tease Dean for being out of his league. “It’s when Romans talked and made speeches and stuff.”

“Wow, thanks detective. You work that out on your own, or did Watson help? Obviously it’s dudes talking, it’s called oration. But they had rules, and you had to play within them, although you could mix up the various elements to get your way. Like a dance routine. Or Legos. It’s actually kinda cool.” He can’t believe he remembered all of that from their conversation yesterday. Hell, Cas really is a good teacher. He suddenly sees Sam staring at him, and so he snaps back “Whatever, you’re the one always going on about what a good teacher Cas is. I can learn as well as the next guy, I just hated actually going to school, ok?”

“Well I think it’s nice that you had a lovely evening despite your brother being so rude both last night and now.” Jessica rises and starts clearing the table, but Sam stands up and stills her with a touch on her forearm, and with one look and a smile between them he takes over. Dean smiles to see them already communicating telepathically, as if they belong together. Damn Sammy’s got it bad. Pride washes over Dean seeing his brother so successful in every aspect of his life, and he basks in it, despite the smartass remarks and resentment he feels at the moment.

“Thank you Jessic – Jess” He halts under her warning eyes, and then smirks at Sam in triumph that even his own girlfriend is on his side about him ditching last night. “Whatever, Sam, just be on time next week, k?”

Sam nods solemnly, “Course Dean.” The smile on Sam’s face is too happy, but Dean just chalks it up to how awesome Jess is, and how insanely full they all are of freaking amazing lasagne. He goes upstairs to give them some privacy and pulls _1984_ off of his bookshelf. For some reason he’s feeling like a treatise on double-talk tonight.

 

*          *          *

 

The next Thursday Sam texts Dean just before they’re supposed to meet and says his Sociology prof just announced a quiz for Friday and that he and Jess have to study for it together. The next week it’s a book report he forgot about. After the next week Dean stops expecting the slacker. If his kid brother can’t balance his time better, that’s his problem, not Dean’s. He would do anything for that kid, but learning to balance your obligations is a trial-and-error being-an-adult thing, not a big-brother-yelling-at-you thing, and eventually he’ll figure it out. In the mean time he and Cas get along just fine, and are starting to develop a real friendship. They talk about movies (turns out Cas has barely seen any), and cars (of which Cas knows nothing), and history (where Dean becomes the underdog, unless it’s early American History), and it’s easy and it’s nice. Thursdays become a kind of unofficial dinner plans night, and they don’t even confirm whether the other will be there again next week; they just know.

About a month in Cas orders a coffee after finishing up dinner. His brows are knit so tightly that he barely registers Dean’s questioning look. When he finally does notice he sighs long and heavy, and answers the unasked question with the fact that he has to stay up late marking. Dean remembers seeing him weeks earlier working late Friday night, and he feels really bad for the guy. He’s about to say so when Cas dumps four creams into his coffee and at least three Mississippis of sugar from the shaker before Dean can gasp in exaggerated horror. Cas raises an eyebrow in response without realising he has officially just lost the pity vote.

“Dude, you can’t… Ugh, you just ruined that perfectly good cup of coffee, what’s wrong with you?” Dean’s face is contorted in disgust, and also sympathetic embarrassment that Cas isn’t even showing the least bit of remorse for his actions.

Cas just takes a sip and smiles as the drink warms him, prepares him for the evening’s challenges. “I like it like this.” He holds the mug with both hands, like it’s a fragile kitten, and Dean’s surprised by how vulnerable Cas suddenly seems.

Dean just shakes his head though, and says through laughter “I get that. But you’re wrong.” They spent the next twenty minutes arguing about whether or not adding anything to coffee counts as “ruining it,” getting so into it that the waitress has to ask them to calm down, to which they both laugh, though Cas looks guiltier than is fair.

“Dean, I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it next week.” Dean’s laughter dies on his lips, and he just stares at Cas, trying to read him. “It’s a very busy time of year for me. I have to finish an article this week, and then next week another class of mine has a midterm, so I’ll be busy grading.” Dean’s surprised by how much this disappoints him, how much he has started looking forward to these dinners. The words are out before he’s even aware he’s thought of them.

“I could help.” Cas looks at him with that intense stare, and raises an eyebrow. Dean tries to explain better. “I mean, I hate eating alone, so can I help? There must be, I dunno, a multiple-choice section, or something? I could help grade that, if you showed me how. And then we could still do dinner?”

Cas smiles, and Dean still can’t believe how much it transforms that face. “That would be very helpful, thank you. I’ll text you my office number, shall we meet next Thursday afternoon, as soon as you finish at work?” And he really does look pleased, making Dean beam back at him. Dean nods, excited to have a found a loophole. Cas shakes his head softly, almost in a pitying manner, though Dean can’t imagine why. “In that case we should probably exchange phone numbers. I mean, if that’s not too…if that’s alright with you.”

Dean nods, surprising himself with how pleased he is that this is going to work out. “Yeah, of course.” He hands over his phone as he takes Cas’, hesitating for a moment while he considers entering his name as something ridiculous and awesome, but settles for ‘Dean Winchester.’ He hands it back, retrieving his own. “So, ya, that’s cool. I’m off at 4. See you then.”

 

*          *         *

 

The next day Dean’s in a great mood at work and finishes up his tasks early enough that he actually has time to tidy up the shop a bit. He loves Fridays, always has. The weekend has so much potential, so many possibilities. By Saturday night it’s already half-over, and whatever’s happened so far will probably keep happening, whether awesome or terrible, so Fridays are important. They set the tone of the whole weekend.

“The hell are you so chipper about?” Bobby’s rough growl breaks through his thoughts. He knows damn well that Dean loves Fridays, but Dean knows he likes to pretend it’s a surprise every week. Even though Dean loves working for Bobby and Ellen, he loves weekends more. He just grins back at Bobby as if they’re having this conversation for the first time. It’s the least he can do for the man who’s been more of a father to him than John ever was.

“Friday Bobby,” he answers, eyes sparkling he’s smiling so hard. “I’m going out for dinner, drinking some beer, maybe even playing some pool. It’s a good day to be me.”

“Please tell me you plan to get laid tonight, I’m sick of this happy go lucky energy spilling out at work.” Ellen’s gruff warning knocks that smile right off Dean’s face, but only for a second. She doesn’t notice that her teasing caused his expression to waver, and he embraces the fact.

“Might do, might do. Ain’t really your business now though, is it?” He winks at her, playfully, and she sighs exasperatedly.

“Thank god I have you around while Jo’s off at school, otherwise I might get rusty with my mom skills.” And she just laughs, turning the corner back to the office. “Have fun Dean.”

Bobby nods in agreement, though he looks slightly suspicious. “Have a good one, son.” Dean can’t handle getting into it right now, can’t possibly explain to Bobby why that can’t happen.

“Yes, sir,” he beams back, satisfying Bobby enough that he too leaves the shop. Dean’s never told Bobby what he means to him, never had some chick flick moment, but he’s sure the old man knows how Dean feels. Man may pull that homespun rustic crap, but Dean’s seen his library, knows the guy is crazy smart and into all kinds of esoteric shit. There are books in there on art, on history, religious thought, the apocalypse – you name it. And they’re not even all in English. He’s seen books in Latin, Greek, Japanese, and others even more confusing. Most importantly, though, Dean knows that the man is way too smart to be fooled by Dean’s charade. But he pretends he is, and Dean knows this, appreciates it, but has absolutely zero intention of coming clean about it.

As he drives home to change, Dean realises he’s lost all motivation to go out tonight. Son of a bitch, Ellen. No, he reminds himself, she didn’t mean anything by it. Just…Damn! Fine. He swings by a BBQ joint and grabs some takeout. As he’s walking through the door he sees a text from Sam.

_> > Going out for dinner with Jess, might come home after for a movie. Please behave?_

He just shakes his head, laughing at how desperate Sam is to impress this girl. Not just some girl, Jessica. Jess. Damn, now she’s starting to get under his skin too. Sigh. Oh well, it’ll give him another chance to make sure she’s good enough for Sammy, not that he really has any lingering doubts.

_< <Fine. But I’m marathoning Firefly tonight, so deal with it._

_> >Jerk_

_< <Bitch_

It suddenly occurs to Dean that if anyone saw his text conversations with his brother they would think he barely tolerated the guy. It cracks him up, considering he would do absolutely anything for his brother, and the lunacy of it returns a bit of his good mood from earlier. He sits down with his pulled pork sandwich and a beer and starts watching, appreciating the western motifs in a totally different setting. He’s three episodes in when he hears the door burst open and the mixed sounds of girly giggles and Sam’s full-bodied laugh. The sound heals the wound from earlier a bit more, reminds him why he does this. Why he doesn’t do the other.

“Hey Dean!” Jessica is glommed onto Sam’s arm, who looks so proud it’s ridiculous. He glances at Dean and his face changes from ‘I’m ludicrously happy’ to ‘don’t you dare be a big brother right now’ so quickly Dean’s eyes grow huge and his eyebrows raise slightly.

“Hey Jessica,” Dean answered, not quite as enthusiastically as her, but with definite warmth. “I was just finishing up, so if you guys want the tv-”

“Oh you like Firefly? Awesome, which episode are you on?” And just like that she sits down on the couch corner closest to Dean’s armchair, and as he’s staring from her to Sam, Sam just sighs and throws up his arms in frustration.

“There’s no way I can stop you two from being friends, is there?” He’s looking back and forth from his girlfriend to his big brother, seeing the inevitable demise he’s just signed up for. Before Dean can answer with some smart remark Jessica beats him to it.

“Sam, hunny, you’re gorgeous and brilliant and unbelievably tall, but if you talk during Firefly you’re going to the special hell, and you’re going there single." She pats his arm without looking at him, and Sam turns to face Dean and starts mouthing all manner of threats. Dean’s chuckling and ignoring him completely, super impressed with this chick his brother has somehow managed to land.

“Sam, she can stay.” To Dean’s horror she glares at him with an unexpected audacity. 

“Dean, hush. Special hell. 

Dean pauses, trying to process this bold freaking move, but then he’s chuckling again, and just gives Sam a thumbs up as he cranks the volume and settles back into his chair. She likes burgers, and Firefly, and Sam. Not that the order he just mentioned is the priority, but still. Dean’s impressed, and is secretly relieved that Sam’s found someone he can actually get along with. It’s something he’s always worried about, but it’s such a dumb thing to explain to somebody, such an unaccountable fear, so he’s never mentioned it. But now it’s moot, cause Jess? She’s cool. She fits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos make me smile and comments make my day! Come say hi [here ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean starts to understand the chip on Cas' shoulder and also learns just how extremely weird a university campus really is. Also, pie, coffee, and figs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've told the fig story to so many people and I get so worked up every time and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!!! Charlie this one's for you.

Thursday comes and after work Dean heads over to meet Cas. He can’t believe how weird campus is. He gets an appreciative “sick car, bro” from some kid in a track suit with matching logos head to toe when he parks. On his way to the nearest coffee shop he has seen people in three-piece suits and in pajamas, in couture and in vintage. He’s seen people with hair every colour of the rainbow walking, cycling, on skateboards, long boards, banana boards, and even one dude on a segway. As he approaches the coffee shop attached to the library (which makes absolutely no sense in his brain), he actually sees a guy leave carrying a stack of books and a jug of orange juice, not a bottle, but a full on gallon-jug, and he just swigs it back like this isn’t insanely weird.

After waiting in line forever and finally getting their two large drips, he has to say “excuse me” twice to some spoiled brat and her friend watching a YouTube video on one of their phones directly in front of the condiment station just so he can ruin Cas’ coffee with the heavy cream and sugar he insists on polluting it with. When he turns around to leave and they are now boxing him in he barks out “Hey, move it!” before having to barge through them again as they make exactly zero effort to get out of his way. Shaking his head in disbelief he walks on, having to ask for directions three times, cause goddamnit this place is a maze, and he loses track of how many languages he hears as he makes his way to Cas’ building.

As soon as he enters it, Dean can see that it’s ancient. Not, like, Ivy League, distinguished, classy old, but just, forgotten and abandoned old, like it’s simply not worth the effort anymore. Considering that café had tv monitors for the menu boards it’s a fairly stark contrast. As he takes the elevator up to the top floor, he takes in the threadbare carpet in various shades of putrid brown. The walls of the elevator are panelled in honest to god orange Formica with gold veining, like some grotesque farce of a 70s lounge, and when he reaches Cas’ floor the doors start opening before the elevator has even stopped, which does wonders to Dean’s confidence. When the doors open up to the Classics department Dean can see every orange door bordered by brown trim and it’s like he got here in a goddamn Delorean rather than his Impala.

As he makes his way to Cas’ office he can see how hard everyone works to not acknowledge the shit hole they work out of, damn near live out of, and it’s one of the most depressing things Dean’s ever seen. _Holy shit_ , he realizes, no wonder Cas is so defensive about his field; his own fucking _school_ doesn’t care about it, why would random civilians? The realization makes his chest ache, and he doesn’t really understand that, so he decides to pretend it doesn’t exist, cause that’s always easiest with things like that, things that threaten to be, y’know, feelings. But at the same time, he promises himself to never again belittle Cas’ interests, or his field, cause god knows he seems to be getting enough of that everywhere else. He realizes with a start he’s already reached a door that says “Sessional Office: C. Novak,” and even though it’s ajar, he knocks quietly before poking his head in.

“Hey Cas,” He offers the coffee that doesn’t even look like coffee, and sits down in the chair across the desk from the teacher with his own pure, dark goodness.

“Hello Dean,” he exhales the words, like they’re the first good thing he’s got to say today, and Dean looks at him questioningly. “My apologies. Marking first year essays.” He shakes his head, “Did you know that Zues was the president of Olympus?”

Dean chuckles. “President Zues, eh? Granted, I didn’t pay a lot of attention even when I did show up, but I’m pretty sure my high schools called that guy Zeus.”

“As did mine. All of my institutions did, in fact. But apparently I have been misinformed.” Sarcastic Cas is new to Dean, and he finds him hilarious. He decides to let him keep venting, so he gives him an opportunity to commiserate by telling him about getting the coffee and how clueless the chicks had been, hoping to get a rise out of him.

“Where did you go?” Cas asks, sipping his coffee for the first time, and his face softens into a thing of such beauty Dean gets distracted, and just stares at the man smiling with his eyes closed in front of him. He’s holding it the same way as he did at dinner last week, Dean notices, and then he wonders why he remembers how the guy holds his coffee cup.

“What? Oh. Oh! Uh, the one near the library?” Cas winces, and Dean wishes he hadn’t broken the spell that the coffee had somehow worked on Cas.

“Undergrads” he growls back, and Dean’s never seen Cas look so petty, and it’s honestly pretty fucking fantastic. “Next time we’ll go somewhere else. I know a place, I think it’ll be much more your style.”

“Cool,” Dean answers, not really trusting himself to say anything else. They relax for a bit, drinking their coffees and just catching up. As they get down to it Cas hesitates a bit, explaining that this really isn’t legit and he shouldn’t be allowing it, but then Dean reminds him of the fact that there are only so many hours in a day, and Cas has got a right to eat’n’sleep as much as the next guy, and that seems to mollify him some. So Cas explains to him how the test works and how to grade the first sections. It’s pretty simple, Dean’s just marking the multiple choice and short answer parts, and Cas is going to handle the essays. Between the two of them they make decent time, and swap particularly amusing answers.   
  
“Cas, um, I know I’m no expert, but did ancient Greece have tanks?” Dean’s already chuckling as he asks. Cas sighs in frustration while shaking his head. Most of the other tests have equally insightful contributions, though a few have actually really impressive answers. Cas holds up the small handful of test booklets.

“This. This is basically who will join the department and pay my salary.” He says it with such defeat, and Dean’s reminded of the way he felt when the elevator doors opened onto this floor. “Everyone’s worried about the bottom line these days, no one has time to study things that don’t obviously lead to hundreds of thousands of dollars. It doesn’t matter that Classics have been the cornerstone of Western education for millennia.” And he looks so tired, so disappointed, Dean doesn’t know what to do. He suddenly wishes he could make every kid here take Cas’ class, make them understand why it’s still important.

“Tell you what, you teach me how it’s important, and me and Sammy’ll spread the word, ok?” Cas smiles, sad but grateful. The light mood is shattered though, and they keep working in silence until it’s time to quit for dinner.

 

*          *          *

 

The next time they meet for coffee it’s at the place Cas mentioned over midterms. Dean instantly likes it better than the pretentious café near the library. This one’s a bit grubbier, but the lines are shorter and they have pie. Plus since he walked through the door he’s heard AC/DC, Def Leopard, and Pink Floyd. And there are couches. Basically, if he didn’t have to fix cars for a living or feed his damn brother he might never leave this place. He says as much to Cas, who chuckles to himself, clearly pleased with his instincts. Before long they’re chatting about Cas’ dissertation, and he’s explaining the uses of oratory in everyday life of Republican Romans.

“For example, there was a senator named Cato the Elder, and he was worried about the rise of the Punic Empire, over in Carthage.” Cas has started sharing little anecdotes with Dean, only the ones he thinks he’ll enjoy, and these little glimpses into Cas’ world mean a lot to Dean, let him see Cas in his element, full of life and wonder and more animated than he ever sees him elsewhere.

“I’m guessing you don’t mean Carthage, Missouri. Wasn’t there some big battle there too?” Cas is surprised, and just stares at Dean, who continues, “Ya, there was a big battle there during the Civil War.” He catches himself too late, suddenly self-conscious about sharing, about opening up, but it’d be super awkward to just stop now, so he tries to explain. “My, uh, my dad was really into that stuff. Civil War re-enactments? We went a bunch before Sammy was born, and then he tried to get me and Sammy involved when we were kids. For a bit it was like this big family thing we did, even attended the Battle of Laurence every August. Then he, um, kinda, stopped going. Anyway, you, uh, you ever need a historically accurate waistcoat or a vintage musket ball you know where to find me.”

“Why would I need a musket ball?” Cas asks him with a completely level voice. At first Dean feels stupid, like Cas is making fun of him, but he has never done that before, and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t just start now. He realises Cas asked with a steady voice, just trying to understand what Dean is talking about.

“Zombie apocalypse? Well, any apocalypse, really, I guess. Robots, plague, fire and brimstone; you always need ammo, right?” Dean rushes ideas out before really forming them, and instantly regrets it, but at least it was an answer. Cas is looking at him inquisitively. He hasn’t heard Dean mention his dad up till now, and this rare glimpse into his past is such a precious insight, he doesn’t realize how uncomfortable Dean looks under his gaze. “But, um, Katie…”

“Cato.” He corrects him instinctively, but there’s a playful grin on his lips as he does it that Dean’s pretty sure is absent during his lectures.

“Ya, sure, Cato. You were saying?” He takes a bite of his pecan pie and oh my god it’s so good he moans a little. Cas looks at him with raised brows to ensure he’s quite well, and from Dean’s nod and stabbing at the pie again he seems to accept that he is and carries on.

“Well, he was convinced that the Carthaginians were going to attack Rome, and he kept urging the state to attack first, vanquish the threat before it escalated. He finished every speech he gave in the senate, on any topic, with the same postscript, ‘Furthermore, I believe Carthage must be destroyed,’ and every time they dismissed him. Finally, he decided to sneak a fig in-“

“A fig? Like, those things Sammy eats?”

“Presumably, I’m not intimately aware of each of my students’ eating habits. So he brought a fig to the senate, concealed in his toga, and during the course of his oration it ‘accidentally’ fell out onto the senate floor. When the other senators complimented him for how fresh it was he responded that it had come from Carthage, which was clearly too close, and that Carthage must be destroyed!” Cas breathes heavily, a little worked up. He loves this story, he loves using it when he’s teaching as an example of the physicality of oration, of the visual it produces in his students, of the majesty of it all.

“Wait, so. So this guy, Cato, he wanted to launch a pre-emptive strike, but got shot down, repeatedly so he just started a food fight in Congress?” Dean’s leaning forward on the couch, his pie finished now, looking to Cas for confirmation.

“What? Dean, no, Cato is an exemplum of the art of Roman oratory, he was held up as the pinnacle of potential for centuries–” Cas is gesturing emphatically, trying to convince Dean of his point.

“Cas. Seriously. The fig from Carthage just “happened” to fall out of the toga of the dude who fucking hated Carthage? Accidents like that, they don’t just happen accidentally. Dude didn’t get his way, so he sulked and threw a temper tantrum. And a food fight.”

Cas wants to argue against this, and defend himself, when he realizes it’s not himself he would be defending. And if he’s honest, Dean’s right. The _gravitas_ of Cato was legendary, and Dean just took him out without so much as a footnote. As he takes a sip of his coffee he can’t help but beam at the lunacy of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cato is one of my favourite Romans, I hope you liked his story! He also did other stuff, as did his great-grandson (also named Cato), but mostly they were known for being the quintessential crotchety old man who hates everything and harps on about the gold old days and kids today and it’s just so ridiculous.
> 
> I have to admit, I’m weirdly mental about “new world” cities with “old world” names; it seriously trips me up. By product of historical immersion 24/7 for 8 years. So we’re watching Abandon all hope and the title card comes up and I go “man, I kinda hate that there’s a Carthage, Missouri.” And my husband instantly goes “Why, is Missouri too close?” I love that sarcastic bastard.
> 
> Also sharing grading is not a thing, your teachers don’t do this (or if they do they should get fired). This is manipulation of reality for the purpose of fiction. Also most TAs aren’t *that* bitchy, but they are kinda bitchy. When you grade 65-150 midterms in a week for each of 3 different classes and most people literally get the most basic info wrong you become kinda bitter and then mock people who talk about Zues or Spartan tanks. I know we’ve been doing it for YEARS and live and breathe this shit and these are just new kids who don’t know or care nearly as much as us, but it still sucks. I’m sorry we’re terrible people. In our defense, marking is an extremely frustrating endeavour that kinda makes us terrible people.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I use a pagan holiday for gratuitous imaginings of particular costumes. Because I'm shameless, and suspenders are a major problem for me.

It’s a Friday afternoon, and Jess has made plans with Dean that she’ll come over Friday and they’ll marathon Firefly some more and order a pizza. To Sam’s embittered scoffing she simply added “of course you’ll be there too, babe.” This girl is seriously growing on Dean. He really, really likes her with Sam, loves how she’s the perfect blend of doting, old-school classy lady and take-no-bull, sassy, modern bad-ass. It’s the perfect match for Sam and Dean can’t get enough of the two of them together. Usually happy couples make him want to puke, remind him that he hasn’t been with anyone since….well, a long damn time now, and he wants nothing to do with the reminder. But when the three of them hang out, it’s just, easy. It’s great, actually, and he loves it.

They’re finishing up the last of the pizza and are on their third episode when Dean exclaims “Man, Mal’s cool. I mean, he goes around saving people, shooting a rifle, and gets to say awesome lines in between. Why can’t our lives be that exciting?”

Sam answers with condescension. “Because this is reality, not a television program, Dean.” But then he adds an afterthought with a different voice, one hinting at a melancholy Dean rarely hears from him. “Besides, being heroes on the run seems pretty damn lonely.”

“What? Sam, you’re totally missing the point. He’s got his ship, and they’ve got each other. They’re a family. What more do you need?”

Sam answers so quietly Dean barely hears him. He could have sworn the kid said “a home,” but he refuses to look at him now, and Jess just takes her hand from Sam’s knee and intertwines her fingers with his. She speaks up instead, stating simply “You don’t need a house to have a home. Serenity is their home, and Dean’s right, they are a family. It might not be much, but like Cap’n said, it’s enough.”

“Sammy, if you don’t marry this chick I will. Fair warning.” Dean leans over to mock his brother at maximum big brother setting, but before he can engage he earns a pillow to the face from Jess.

“Easy there Romeo, nobody asked you.” She hasn’t taken her eyes of the screen, and Dean chuckles, still incredulous how Sam scored a girlfriend who is this freaking cool. Suddenly she gets all excited, and frantically pauses the show, now that the fight scene’s over. Dean’s negotiated that caveat with her, they can talk during fight scenes, as long as he shuts up again before the dialogue kicks back in afterwards. It’s not like they don’t all have it memorized, but still. Rules. “Oh my god! Guys, oh my god!” They’re both looking at her in confusion, wondering what revelation has lit her up so. “Guys, we should do this for Halloween! There’s the party at school next weekend, we should go as characters from the show!”

“Whoa, easy there Jess. I don’t really do costumes. Or dances. Plus I’m not even a student. But you two should totally go.” Dean relaxes back in his chair, his excitement of Jess’ early proclamation fading. However she is clearly not that easily deterred.

“Dean they always want chaperones, it’d be great! Bet you there’ll be some hotties there you could be all ‘big damn hero’ with.” She sure does know how to play it, Dean thinks. “And Sam, it’d be so fun, come on! Let’s! You’d make the cutest Wash.” Dean snorts, laughing at how Sam basically is really just a ridiculous dork who never really grew out his dinosaur phase.

“What, so you’ll go as Zoe?” he asks her, assuming she’ll go as the fictional other half of her real-life boyfriend. But Jess just scoffs.

“Of course not, I’m not that hard. Oh come on you two!” Both brothers have burst into giggles by now, and can’t help it. “Ok, I may be a bit bossy, but I’d never shoot somebody. No, I’d definitely go as Kaylee. Dean can you lend me a pair of coveralls from the shop?”

“Well, ya, I guess. You two don’t want to go as a couple though?” Dean looks from Sam to Jess, realising vaguely that this is one of those moments when relationships get defined, and feeling slightly intrusive to be so involved in this one.

“I am so not going as Simon.” Sam blurts, but Jessica had started at the same time and her voice carries over his anyway.

“Don’t be silly Dean, I don’t need to wear a costume that matches Sam’s to feel better about our relationship. I like how we’re doing just fine thank you.” She pats Sam’s thigh and kisses him briefly, the two of them sharing the most obnoxious smiles Dean’s ever seen. He still can’t believe he doesn’t want to hurl at the sight of them. “Come on Dean. What if I do all the sourcing? I’ll get you suspenders, and I know Sam has a button up you can wear that’ll work.” Apparently him going as Malcolm Reynolds is not even up for debate, they all just know that’s who he’d pick. Dean’s seriously considering this, much to his surprise, and she leverages the edge she can see she’s gained. “I’ll even find you a fake shotgun. Deal?”

“Damnit. Fine.” And she claps twice in excitement while the brothers sigh, and Dean realises that for the first time in his life he’s going to a Halloween party in an actual costume, not in a superhero tee or a Stetson or something, and it’s a group costume on top of everything. Somehow this doesn’t repel him as much as he expects, and it’s a strange thought.

 

*          *          *

 

True to her word Jess takes care or everything. She signs Dean up as a chaperone for the dance, and one day at work Ellen hands Dean a pair of Jo’s spare coveralls telling him to take them home ‘to that sweet girl Sam’s seeing,’ and by the time the party comes round Jess has sewn a cute patch on one leg, and procured full costumes for them both. Sam’s wearing an atrocious Hawaiian shirt with two toy dinosaurs in the breast pocket, and Dean’s wearing Sam’s red button down, a pair of suspenders, and his own jeans. He decides to swap his usual jacket for an old brown leather one of his dad’s, because, as much as he’s loathe to thank John for anything, Browncoats. Jessica beams at them in her ridiculous pigtail buns, and Dean can’t believe how protective he feels over her. At first he thinks it’s just the Mal/Kaylee vibe, but soon he realises that he has already started thinking of her as a little sister. The realisation shocks him, but not unpleasantly. Before they realise she’s done it, Jessica takes a selfie of them all to both brothers’ horror, then plays around with her phone before they all pile into the Impala. Jess has been referring to the car as _Serenity_ all night and Dean seriously doesn’t think he could approve any more enthusiastically. He keeps to himself that he’s always felt like his Baby was his ship, his home, his means of doing good or bad, and the thing that held his messed up little family together. Jessica may be fitting in like a dream but she doesn’t need to know everything yet.

As they’re pulling onto campus Jessica casually says “Ellen says you both look very handsome.” Sam and Dean both start shouting out questions in response to this before she can get another word in edgewise. “She told me I could borrow these as long as I texted her a picture of us all in costume.” She looks at her phone again. “Dean, apparently Bobby particularly likes your suspenders.”

“Son of a bitch Jess, watch it. Just ‘cause you’re awesome don’t think I won’t kick your ass.” Dean growls out the threat with as much venom as he can muster.

“Yes sir, Cap’n Tight Pants, sir!” And just like that she’s off the hook again. Damnnit this girl’s good.

They walk into the gym and it’s dark and loud, with shitty top-40 music playing that Dean instantly hates, and Sam and Jess give him a quick smile before heading straight for the dance floor. Dean wonders around the perimeter, looking for the food table he’s convinced must exist, and hoping he’ll be able to find somebody worth talking to tonight.

“Dean?” He snaps his head up, confused as to who might possibly know him, only to come face to face with dark blue eyes just a few inches from his face.

“Cas? Damn, personal space man?” Dean could just take a step back, but for some reason he doesn’t. Eventually Cas exhales and steps back, offering Dean a flimsy white plastic cup of punch. “Is this punch even worth drinking?” He asks, taking it tentatively.

“Unfortunately it’s non-alcoholic, if that is what you are implying.” Always so formal, even about spiked punch. Dean just can’t understand it. It’s like the guy’s always in work mode and just doesn’t know how to turn off.

“So, uh, you chaperoning?” Dean aims for the obvious question. Sure he might not know him super well, but he’s pretty sure Cas is the last person in the world who’d attend something like this voluntarily; he must have drawn the short straw in the faculty lounge.

“Indeed. Apparently the newest hires get the….honour of supervising this event.” He growls the word out, and it takes everything Dean has not to laugh in his face. He shakes his head as if trying to rid the thought from his mind. When he stops he looks at Dean as if only just seeing him, and appraises him from top to bottom. “So, what are you supposed to be? Or do you just wear suspenders now?”

“What, this? Malcolm Reynolds man!” In response to Cas’ blank stare he expands. “From Firefly? I’m a Space Cowboy.” He smirks triumphantly, knowing for a fact that he looks good, and more pleased than he’d ever admit to Jess, or Sam for that matter, that he’s dressed as one of his favourite characters of all time.

“Dean that doesn’t make any sense, there are no cows in space.” Cas announces this with a deadpan that would make even the most seasoned straight-man jealous, and Dean can’t believe it. He just groans.

“Don’t tell me Cas, you’ve never seen Firefly, have you?” He cradles his head in despair. It’s like Cas has been in prison or something, except even in prison you get cable. “It’s an awesome show that’s basically a Western, but set in space. Like, there’s a civil war, and noble outlaws, and whores with hearts of gold, and _cows,_ and it’s great. Plus, um, spaceships. It works, I swear, it’s better than I make it sound.”

Castiel is taking this in with a look of intense concentration, and Dean feels like he’s just made a total ass of himself. He’s more than a bit relieved when Cas nods in understanding and answers ,“I see. Perhaps I will give that a try then next time I have the opportunity. I know many Westerns incorporate similar tropes to Greek epic, so perhaps I’ll see other allusions as well.” Dean nods, grateful Cas hasn’t called him an idiot or something.

“Greek epic, that like the Odyssey and stuff?” Cas looks at him genuinely surprised, and for a second Dean misreads it as contempt. But then he remembers Cas has never treated him like that, so he tries to shake it off. “What? I read.” Cas continues to stare at him, face unreadable, and it goes on long enough that Dean panics and just blurts out “Sam’s girlfriend made us wear costumes, I’m here with them.” He gestures to the dance floor where the traitors are completely oblivious to him. It was the least subtle topic change but he can’t handle that look one second longer. Cas looks confused by the sudden shift in conversation but seems content enough to follow along.

“What about you? Let me guess, undertaker? Insurance adjuster? Possibly… a federal agent undercover as an accountant?” Cas is wearing a suit like always, and Dean can see his signature coat on a chair back nearby.

“Y’know, you’re the first person to get that right, however did you guess?” He answers, smiling slightly. He gestures at himself apologetically before adding “I’m not really one for costumes.” He looks down nervously, as if it’s something to be embarrassed about.

“No it’s all good. Me neither, usually. Hey check it out!” Dean crosses to a nearby table where various costume accessories have been abandoned, no doubt by people who have fled to cooler parties with legit punch, better tunes, and less adult supervision. He picks up a headband with a fluffy white halo on a spring. Before Castiel can protest Dean walks right up to him and plonks it on his ridiculously dishevelled dark hair. “There. All better.”

“Dean, this is ludicrous. I look preposterous.” Castiel reaches up to remove it, but Dean stills his hand. His breathing quickens as he realises he’s now the one invading Cas’ space, something he gave him hell for just moments ago. He wills himself to calm down and make a crack to diffuse the tension.

“No, you look angelic.” He corrects Cas with a devilish grin, and for some reason Castiel actually lowers his hand, accepting the silly addition to his attire. Dean can see the exact moment he resigns himself fully.

“Ah. Well, don’t expect me to perch on your shoulder,” Castiel throws back, earning a big grin from Dean. The conversation dies out awkwardly with that, and they stand there, leaning against the wall, neither of them sure what to say following that exchange.

After a while Dean starts talking about the other classes Sammy’s taking. He figures Sam’s a safe conversation bet, since his brother is kind of the only thing they officially have in common. He casually mentions that Sam also has a class Tuesday afternoons, and he doesn’t get to see him then either.

“I usually work late on Tuesdays as well, they are generally a very long day for me.” Cas looks tired again, and Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how depending on the conversation the guy can look either 21 or 40. It’s surreal how the stress ages him.

“Well, would beer help?” Cas looks at him, and raises an eyebrow in question. Dean continues, “I mean, it’s not like I’ll be home with Sam.”

And before either of them really know what’s happening, they agree to a standing drinks date Tuesday evening. Come November they are meeting for beers Tuesdays and dinner Thursdays, and it’s comfortable and easy. Dean never expected to get along so well with a nerd who wasn’t his brother, who by the way was still was nowhere to be found at suppertime on Thursdays, the disorganized jerk. Weeks pass like this, easy evenings enjoying each other’s company, swapping stories and laughing across a table.

“How do you even get through this, week after week, for years?” Dean asks once, honestly in awe upon learning that Cas is on campus for 10-12 hours, 5 or 6 days a week. He bitches about his Monday to Friday regularly, and he only works 40 hours and gets to actually enjoy his weekends. 

“Well, I only spend time with those whom I find worth the investment. And I imbibe copious quantities of alcohol.” The joke covers the compliment, but that doesn’t stop Dean from grinning like a fool anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tons of direct dialogue lifting in this chapter; credit to the show and its writers, as well as the gloriously sarcastic ass who wrote a Firefly joke into Castle. Also, I kinda hate the internet for making me use [this ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/e9/f1/ce/e9f1cead07f4534a85b8372072ae6219.jpg) and [this ](http://67.media.tumblr.com/6dae175789ffba592916e89edfe24e99/tumblr_n4d783zaId1to1odoo6_1280.jpg) as costume ideas, but really, what other choice did I have, I ask you? None. No choice at all. Obviously.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas parties are fun and awkward. Somehow social interaction is no longer Dean’s strong suit, and he’s none too pleased about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this!!! Thank you for your kudos and comments, they make me all tingly! And a billion thank yous to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing and helping me make this better ❤️

It’s the last Wednesday of November, and Sam starts complaining about papers and finals and how surprising it is that classes can already be over next week. Dean suddenly realises what that might mean, but tries to stay calm about it. “So, wait, you don’t have class anymore after next week?”

“No, Dean, that’s what the end of classes means. I’m not done exams till the 17th, but it’s not like I need to fly home for the holidays, so I’ll still be around.” Sam’s explaining this like Dean is a confused toddler, and being that Dean is in fact his older brother he’s not appreciating it one little bit.

“Alright Samantha, calm down. Right, so, want me to make myself scare so you can study for finals? I could be out of your hair Tuesdays and Thursdays.” That was subtle, right? He hates the idea of not being able to hang out with Cas regularly anymore. He’s been enjoying their evenings an awful lot. Not that he’d tell his brother that. He can just think it’s a regular offer with no ulterior motive. He’ll buy that, right?

Sam thinks about it for a minute with an unreadable face, but then he nods. “Y’know what, thanks Dean, ya, I think I’d like that. It’d give me a chance to really prepare, y’know? Do my best.”

“You’ve got it Sammy!” He claps him on the shoulder, and Sam makes a noise that’s a cross between a chuckle and a sigh, his usual ‘I’m irritated but still love Dean’ sound, and goes back to his homework. Dean finishes cleaning up after dinner, knowing he’ll have to ask Cas tomorrow what he’s up to after classes let out.

The next day finds them out for dinner as usual, and Dean tries to find a way to ask what he desperately wants to know without seeming too desperate or nosy. “So Cas,” he starts, thinking that’s a good beginning, but Cas raising his eyebrows in response is not helping him focus. “Uh, Sammy mentioned last night that classes are finishing up pretty soon. He’s got to study though, so I can still be free Tuesdays and Thursdays if you want. I mean, I know you’re busy with school too, or might be going home to visit your family or whatever, so no worries, just, um, if you are interested, I wanted to let you know.”

Cas continues to look at Dean as if he holds the answer to his own question, then takes a pull from his beer before seeming to have found the solution. “Well, if it would help Sam study, I think it would be a good idea. Besides, I know I’ll need the help de-stressing during finals.”

“Ya, that’s what I was thinking.” Dean sighs in relief, though he wasn’t sure why. Sure he liked the guy’s company, but it isn’t like he couldn’t cope without him. “So you’re not, y’know, flying home next week or anything?”

“No. In fact I’m spending Christmas here. My cousin will be passing through and we agreed to spend the holiday together; he’s almost as close as a brother. And I’m marking until the day before Christmas Eve anyway, so considering my family lives in Europe it would not be feasible for me to leave earlier regardless.” Dean choked on his beer.

“Seriously? I thought teachers got Christmas holidays too! That’s so unfair.” Dean’s chest constricts at the thought of Cas spending Christmas Eve-eve alone in his office staring at shitty finals boasting of more of the feats of mighty Zues or some other crack-contribution to the field.

“It’s part of the deal, Dean. I have an exam that’s scheduled for the 22nd, which means I have to mark it after that. I technically could mark it over the holidays, but to be honest I’d rather just get it over and done with and take at least that week off. Besides, Christmas isn’t really my thing, I don’t mind.” But Dean minds. He minds a lot. Before his brain has a chance to catch up to his mouth he blurts out something way over the line for them.

“Alright, well, at the very least you should come to our Christmas party. Sam and I do this open house thing Christmas Eve where we start around 3 and go all evening. You can bring your cousin, and it’ll be great!” _Uh, Winchester? The fuck are you doing?_ Dean looks at Cas warmly, no trace of deception on his face, and eventually Cas smiles and seems to reach a conclusion.

“Well, I probably shouldn’t, since Sam’s going to be my student next term as well, but we’ll try, alright Dean?” The questioning look on Dean’s face blossoms into a full smile, flush lips drawn back in relief.

“Ya, sure. Awesome.”

*          *          *

Before he knows it it’s Christmas Eve, and by the time Sam comes downstairs Dean’s made bacon, eggs, toast, and pancakes, all on plates in the oven staying warm. He has bread rising in a corner of the counter along with a tray of shortbread waiting for its turn in the oven, and he’s busy mixing up dough for Sam’s favourite gingerbread molasses cookies. “Seriously Dean? You know we always have tons of leftovers, why do you need to make so much?”

“Because shut your face, that’s why!” He’s glad Sam’s been home more this week. As much as he likes Jess, he’s missed Sam when he stays over at her dorm. He knows it doesn’t make sense, that even if Sam came home they’d just be asleep in their own rooms and then rushing off in the morning, but the house feels so empty, and he hates how quiet it gets. He refuses to call this empty nest syndrome or anything remotely related, because he’s not a father and Sammy’s not a baby bird spreading his wings or any other damn metaphorical crap. He just misses his brother is all.

“God, morning to you too.” He rubs his eyes while grabbing himself a coffee and sitting down at the table as Dean finishes up the cookies. It’s not long before he drops the last dollop of dough on the cookie sheet and tetrises in the cookie-sheets while removing their breakfasts. The smell of cinnamon and cloves permeates the kitchen while they eat, making the place feel more like Christmas to Dean than all the decorations Jess insisted they hang up. He likes them well enough, it just never feels like Christmas to him until he has baked up all their holiday favourites.

“So Sammy, you invite anyone other than the usual suspects this year? Any other wicked cool hotties you’re dating?” He shoves an entire piece of bacon into his mouth as he waits, wiggling his eyebrows. In response Sam stares at his brother a minute before shaking his head and looking down at his coffee

“God you’re weird, you know that? Anyway, uh, Jess, obviously, and a few kids from my classes who are still in town. I’ve talked about them before, there’s Kevin, Meg, Ruby, just the gang–”

“Right, right, nerd squad, got it.”

“Dean, don’t interrupt me! And we’re not all nerds.” Dean just raised his eyebrows while shooting Sam his most incredulous look. “Well, ok, Kevin doesn’t help my case here. But Ruby and Meg get up to no good! Ruby actually almost got suspended earlier this term for lighting a fire in the quad.”

“Dude, you’re not helping yourself. I’d way rather you be hanging out with nerds than pyromaniacs. I don’t like the sound of this girl, be careful there.” He got up and started clearing the table, wiping it down so he could continue his work for the evening’s festivities.

“Sure, mom, whatever you say.” Sam chuckles and heads upstairs with his coffee, leaving without seeing the way his casual comment affected his brother, cutting right through him. Somebody had to look out for the kid, and hell, he doesn’t even mind, he just never would have wanted it to be like this.

Several hours later he has scored open the freshly baked bread and added melted cheese and bacon bits into it, finished another two dozen cookies, put out a meat and a cheese platter, and has mulled wine simmering on the back burner. He’s got whiskey, rum, and eggnog, enough glasses and little plates, and told Sam to throw on some bad-ass rock Christmas album he discovered a few years ago. Everything is ready.

Bobby and Ellen show up first, bringing chips and dip and pies, which Sam adds to the kitchen table with a pointed look at Dean, as if to prove his earlier point. They also bring an energetic and sassy blonde who jumps into Dean’s arms the second she walks through the door.

“Hey Jo. How you been girl?” He lets her go, but stays close while she’s wrapped up in Sam’s hug, his arms completely enveloping her.

“Better than you, you big loser. Still playing Susie Homemaker I see. Well, at least it doesn’t suck as much as last year.” Her whole body laughs as her eyes twinkle, clearly not meaning a single word but finding it necessary to rile him up two seconds in after being apart for the first time in their lives for four whole months.

“Missed you too, you pain in the ass.” He pulls her in for another hug, kissing the top of her head as he does, breathing in the feeling of family and safety. He loves Jo like a sister, and her having been away at school this semester had been almost as hard on him as seeing Sammy less.

Shortly afterwards Jess comes over, and about twenty minutes later Sam’s school friends show up in a big herd, as if they’ll be safer all huddled together. He gets a nervous smile and head bob from Kevin, an unpleasant and seemingly immoral leer from Meg, and a completely unimpressed glare from Ruby. He instantly dislikes both girls, and that feeling only grows when he sees the way Ruby looks at Sam and Jess. He will have to keep an eye on that.

Hours pass pleasantly. Dean has caught up with friends, refilled the snacks, adjusted the mulled wine’s temperature, and generally fidgeted in every conceivable manner pretending not to notice that Cas has not made an appearance yet. By 8 pm Dean decides he could text the guy and it wouldn’t seem too weird. It’s not like Cas is the kind of guy to show up at a party late to seem cool. He’s punctual and organized and doesn’t play games like that. So where was he? Maybe he was lost. Dean should definitely text to make sure, it’s only courteous.

>>Hey man, just wanted to see if you were having trouble finding the place. If you get here much later I can’t guarantee snacks.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and smiles as Kevin walks past him into the kitchen. It beeps just a moment later, and he pulls it out of his pocket so quickly he almost loses it over his shoulder. His stomach clenches when he sees the first few words on the screen, but he checks the actual message just to confirm his fears.

<<I’m sorry Dean, but I will not be able to attend your party after all. Please forgive me.

 _Damn. Damn!_ Other than Jess and Jo, Dean doesn’t have any friends at this thing, and even that is probably pushing it. One is basically family and the other is here with his brother. He had been looking forward to hanging out with Cas off campus, seeing him in casual clothes, showing him his world rather than always being in Cas’, seeing if he ever let down that teacher filter and just was Cas, some guy. He shakes his head to clear his mind of such ridiculous thoughts, and texts him back.

>>Of course dude, no big deal. Have a great night!

<<Merry Christmas Dean.

He stares at the message a second longer before shoving his phone back into his pocket and returning to the party.

The rest of the night and the next day passes in a caffeine and alcohol induced blur of pancakes, chocolate and madness. Bobby, Ellen, and Jo stay over, and the five of them celebrate Christmas together at the boys’ house, eating too much, drinking too much, exchanging presents, and making entirely too much noise. It’s perfect, and Dean smiles almost all day long. A few times he thinks of Cas alone with his cousin, and worries that there’s no way the guy is having this great a Christmas, but it really isn’t any of his business, so he settles for texting him a festive greeting after lunch and leaving it at that. He even leaves his phone in his room so he won’t be distracted and he spends the rest of the day teasing Jo and Sam, sassing Bobby and Ellen, and just generally enjoying every second with his family. He misses his mom, hell, he even misses his dad on Christmas, but it is such a great day, and he isn’t going to sour it by dwelling on things that can’t be changed. When he finally goes to bed long after midnight and several whiskey-eggnogs, he sees that Cas answered his earlier text almost immediately.

>>I hope all your holiday dreams come true Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who’s wondering, it was the Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s _Christmas Eve and Other Stories_ and it is the best for Christmas parties, seriously. And yes, that really happens. I was on campus till 9pm the 22nd and spent ten hours there the 23rd marking last year. Mister got back into town the 21st, and we had to do all our Christmas shopping the 24th. It was insane. If you haven’t noticed yet this fic is mostly me shipping Destiel and me hating grad school smushed into a love child filled with slow burns and obtuse crushes. Also I’m so excited for the next chapter because Cas’ cousin is in town, and he’s probably my favourite character ever to write :D Any guesses?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is not at his best the morning after, and it appears Cas isn’t either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless and eternal thankyous to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic and making it better! You're amazing and I love you doll!!!!

The next morning Dean wakes feeling a bit rougher for wear, but alright considering he drank way more than usual last night. He stumbles downstairs to find Ellen in a robe making bacon and eggs. When he tries to help she swats his hand and shoos him towards the coffee pot. “Boy, let someone take care of you for a change, y’hear? Sit.” So he chuckles and sits, trying not to think about her words too carefully.

“So, where were _your_ friends yesterday?” Ellen asks pointedly, smacking the flipper on the edge of the pan and turning to glare at Dean.

“What, I was hosting! And you guys were here, you’re my friends.” Ellen just raises her eyebrows further and glares at him. “I invited some friends but they cancelled last minute. Can we please forget it?”

“No, hon, we can not. I worry about you, you need to socialize, meet people your own age. Far as we can tell you only hang out with Sam and Jess and us at the shop. That’s not enough of a life, son.”

Dean snaps back before he can think about it. “Look, I have friends, I hang out with Cas all the time. Besides, it’s none of your business who I’m friends with, I’m not your son.” The last phrase causes Ellen to flinch minutely, as if Dean had physically struck her, and he instantly regrets it.

“I’m going for a drive.” And without another word he slips into his jacket and walks out the door, barely calming down as Baby roars to life and he drives off, trying to sort out his thoughts.

He should never have snapped at Ellen like that. She’s been there for him since he was born, and helped raised them just like Bobby did. He doesn’t even want to think about where they’d have ended up without her, and yet he just treated her like a passing acquaintance, hurting her in the best way he knew how before his heart could catch up with his brain and stop it from speaking the words. It’s a special gift he has. Sometimes he can find the cruellest way to hurt the people he cares about the most. _Hell of a gift, Winchester_. He drives for miles and miles before pulling over at a lookout and collecting himself. He knows this is the kind of place teens came to neck, hell, he used to come out here with Rhonda Hurley, but that was an awfully long time ago. Sometimes he misses her, but to tell the truth, it’s more that he misses the idea of her. Honestly he is lonely, but that doesn’t matter. Some things just aren’t an option anymore.

His thoughts start to wander, and he remembers the way Ruby had looked at his brother, hungrily devouring him as if she wasn’t in front of both his girlfriend and his big brother. She was ballsy, he’d give her that, but he didn’t like it one bit. And then his mind starts wandering again and before he knows it he ends up thinking of Cas. How he’d cancelled at the last minute and hadn’t even cancelled until Dean called him on it. It was so unlike him that Dean suddenly wants to check and make sure everything’s ok. He pulls out his phone and texts Cas.

>>Hey man, got a minute?

He doesn’t expect to hear back right away, and he definitely does not expect to see his phone light up with a phone call from Cas.

“Hello?” He asks with more curiosity than is really justified, since he initiated contact and has caller ID. Instead of Cas’ familiar baritone, however, a tenor with an English lilt answers his query.

“Hello, Dean darling? I thought it must be you, and I’ve been dying to have a little chat. Cassie’s busy at the moment, but we have so much to discuss. I apologize for our last minute cancellation regarding your little soirée yesterday but you see my dear cousin is actually an enormous pile of – arrgh Cassie no! Stop! Pile o – uff! Stop it you twat, you’ll break my arm!”

Dean is completely confused, and the dishevelled grunts and dull thuds coming through the line now do nothing to clarify the situation. Finally he hears a particularly loud thwack and click, what is unmistakeably a door being slammed and locked, and then Cas’ voice comes over the line, hushed and unsure.

“Dean? Are you still there?” Cas’ voice squeaks over the line. He’s never heard the man sound so small or worried before.

“Ya Cas, I’m here. You ok?” Dean is sympathetic but also damn curious as to what the hell just went down.

“Yes, I apologize for that.” He sounds exhausted, as if he has been up all night with a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

“Wanna maybe explain to me what just happened?” He asks gently, calmly, but damned if he isn’t going to ask.

“Um, yes. Ah… that was,” Huge sigh. “That was my cousin, Balthazar. The one in town. He thought it would be funny to phone you. I don’t understand his intentions; occasionally his British sense of humour is lost on me. Regardless, I am terribly sorry Dean that we missed your party. How did it go?” _Well_ , Dean thinks, _that was an awful lot of information_. He decides to work with it all in order.

“Ugh, right, ok. Well, your cousin kind of sounds like a dick, no offense. Good luck with him.” He hopes he hasn’t overstepped, but feels considering the fact that the dude called him it’s within his rights. Cas’ response does ease his worry a bit though.

“Yes, well, none taken; he kind of is. Thank you.” He still sounds exhausted, wearier than he is during term, which is just wrong considering it’s the day after Christmas.

“Haha, right. Um, ya, well, the party went well, but we missed ya. I think Sam was looking forward to doing some conjugating in front of everyone to show off, and it’s much less effective when no one there knows if he’s making it up or not.” Dean feels the relief flood through him when he hears Cas chuckling on the other end.

“I see. Though from what you’ve said I imagine Bobby would be able to spot an error, at least a the first year level.” Dean’s jaw dropped. How had he remembered that? He suddenly imagined Bobby and Cas and wondered if they’d get along, if Cas would have even fit in at the party. Or maybe at Sunday dinner. _Wait what?_ Anyway, he’s pretty sure he would have, but still, he can’t help but wonder.

“Uh, ya. Probably. I, uh, I was also looking forward to hanging out. Seeing you off campus, uh, ever, ya know?”

“I know Dean. Again, I’m sorry. There was a family emergency and I couldn’t get away. Besides, to be honest, it probably would not have been, ah, prudent, to introduce you to my cousin. Or your family for that matter.” Dean nods even though Cas can’t see him, but before he can feel like an idiot for that he hears muffled yelling over the line and then Cas shouting firmly “Balthazar, I swear to god, stop it.”

“Look, it’s clearly a bad time, I’ll catch you in the New Year. Just wanted to say Merry Christmas Cas.” Dean just wants to make it better, but has no idea how to make that happen.

“Thank you for understanding. Merry Christmas, Dean.”

As the phone goes dead in his hands he’s still smiling, though not entirely sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God Balth’s a glorious asshole and I love the crap out of him. Part of me wanted to have him gate crash the party, just so I could write the shit show that would have ensued, but I am cruel and wanted to hurt Dean and keep going with my slow burn. Besides, let’s just say his shipping methods would not have been as subtle as some other folks out there.
> 
> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Dean's mouth works faster than his brain, he's super smooth, and there's a flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal gratitude to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic! Thank you doll!!!! Also she hates this chapter so hopefully you guys will forgive me!

It’s the first Thursday of the New Year, and though school starts next week Cas and Dean decided to meet up anyway to catch up on the holidays and squeeze a bit more fun into their time off. Cas sighs at their table, exhaling the weight of the world. His eyes have bags under them and he’s bent over the table, seeming even more stressed out than usual.

“Whoa, Cas, you ok?” Dean finds himself strangely protective of Cas, like he’s an alien in a strange land, unfamiliar with local customs and prone to hiding in his little cave of an office. Dean’s taken him under his wing, made it his job to look out for him. He’s doing it for Sammy anyway, so it’s not really out of the way.

“Yes, thank you. Balthazar only left a few days ago, I’ve been revising my syllabus all week, plus I have a conference next month.” Dean nods until his brain catches up with some math and then he stares at Cas open mouthed.

“Wait, Balthazar left before New Year’s Eve? I thought he was hanging out with you for the holidays. What did you do for New Year’s?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he realises how presumptuous it is, how offensive it is to assume Cas has no other friends and couldn’t find a party on his own. But from Cas’ downtrodden expression he realises he was right, and that’s much worse.

“I spent it reading my book in my favourite chair curled up with a six pack.” He almost whispers it, and Dean feels so awful. He doesn’t say it as if he actually enjoyed it, only as if he wants to pretend he did. Dean’s lied long enough himself to know the difference.

“Dude, you should have called! You could have spent New Year’s with us! Granted, Sam and Jess and Jo dragged me to some bar, but at least they all gave me a peck on the cheek at midnight. Even Sammy the big goof.” He grinned at the memory, his brother having to bend over to hug him, then bend over even more to kiss Jess.

“Bars aren’t really my thing, Dean, but thank you.” Cas looks lonely and dejected, and it makes Dean feel sick.

“I hear ya, but honesty, all those people New Year’s Eve, I’m cool hanging out at home too. If you had asked we could have split that beer and read together.” The words tumble unbidden from his lips, and it’s too late to take them back. Dean realises with surprise that he doesn’t really want to retract them, but he’s unsure why. It totally sounded like he was saying they could have had a date, and that wasn’t at all what he meant, but hopefully Cas understood him. He dares to steal a glance and Cas is smiling, though there’s melancholy hiding just barely beneath the surface of that smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Cas says through his Cheshire grin.

Dean nods, clearing his throat before remembering the conference Cas had just mentioned, and how he should ask about that. “So, why are you stressing about this conference?”

“Well, I’m a little anxious about my paper. I’m taking the bus there, which will be exhausting, and then I’m presenting on oration.” Cas confesses this like it’s a death sentence, hanging his head morosely and playing absent-mindedly with his food.

“So? No problem. You know that stuff inside out,” Dean legitimately can’t see why on earth this would make Cas nervous. Dude’s a genius and has studied this stuff for years, what’s the big deal?

“Well, I’m trying something slightly… unorthodox.” Cas pauses, hesitating, and Dean tries to convince him with his expression that he can continue. Cas sighs again. “I want to present my paper in the traditional style of oratory.” Dean doesn’t get that at first, and looks at Cas questioningly. “I want to give my paper with the appropriate stances, and hand gestures, of rhetoric; a sort of dramatic re-enactment, if you will. But no one’s ever done that before, and I don’t want to make a fool of myself. This is a huge conference; this could determine where I do my post-doc.”

Dean’s never really considered Cas leaving, and suddenly he realizes what a huge part of his life this teacher has become, how used he’s gotten to having him around. But that’s not the issue right now, and he can’t afford to worry about that yet.

“Look, you know the gestures, right?” Cas nods, a little hesitantly. “Ok, well it seems to me that this is an awesome idea to explain a really complex concept and bring it to life for people who don’t get it, right?” Cas smiles, nodding, because of course Dean understands. “Know what?” Dean continues, “to hell with this. You’re going to own this, you’re going to demonstrate the hell out of oratory, and I’m going to drive you.”

Wait what was that last part? Did he just offer to drive a friend across the state? For an _academic conference_? Oh god, who has he become? But once the shock of his own offer wears off, he realizes how much he likes the idea. “Seriously Cas, I’ll take you, we can split the costs, and I can see you in action. It’ll be awesome, and maybe I’ll finally get all this oratory stuff. Besides, buses suck.” He smiles, and Cas starts to soften, starts to relax and breathe again.

“That…That would be really nice. Thank you Dean.” And Dean just nods and smiles, because he can’t believe how much this seems to mean to Cas. Besides, any excuse to hit the highway in his baby is a good one. The rest of their evening passes pleasantly, Cas smiling, albeit tired, and Dean weirdly excited about this road trip and trying desperately to forget what a nerd that makes him.

*          *          *

When he starts packing up next the Thursday before the conference, it occurs to him he should probably tell his brother about this. He heads back downstairs and flops down on the couch beside Sam. “Hey Sammy!” He starts off, light and without agenda.

“What do you want?” Sam’s glowering at him. How does he do that? Ugh, guess that’s what happens after living together for two decades. Sam’s still looking at him expectantly, so he figures he may as well get it over with.

“Right. Well, I know you want to have some time alone with Jessica, so I’m going to get out of your hair this weekend. Just use a rubber, ok?” He says it casually like it’s not a big deal, but Sam is instantly suspicious and is staring at him, waiting for him to explain. “I’m taking Cas, Castiel, _Professor Novak_ , to a conference across state.” He can see Sam processing this, and he blurts out, “It’s not like a weekend away or anything.” Son of a bitch. Why the hell would he say that? Now that’s _exactly_ what it seems like.

Sam looks seriously concerned, like Dean is trying to dart through traffic to cross the street without looking both way, but he just shakes his head. “Ok, sure. You’ll be home for dinner Sunday night?” He looks at his big brother with a face that belies his age and reminds Dean of the little boy who looked up to him for so long.

“Yep, family tradition, nobody messes with that!” And he leans over to noogie his brother, before remembering that he can’t reach anymore when they’re sitting if Sam tries at all to deflect him, which he does. They keep rough-housing for a few more minutes though, and it reminds Dean of how much fun they were always able to have together when they were kids, no matter what.

*          *          *

Dean remembers the first time he made Sam dinner. He was six, and they’d been on the road for just over a year. Usually John came back from whatever job he’d been chasing, stumbled into the motel, and passed out. Dean would carefully sneak some money out his wallet and grab them something from the nearest fast-food place, or a vending machine if they were too far out of town. Eventually John caught on, and after _chastising_ Dean he had started leaving money out, sometimes five dollars, sometimes ten, and then leaving Dean alone with his brother. “Take care of Sammy,” he’d say as he walked out the door, slamming it behind him. Dean never understood why John found it necessary to say that. Of course Dean would look after Sammy! He was his little brother; he was just a kid, he needed to be cared for.

But that day he had been watching tv and came across some terrible debt counselling program that taught couples how to get out of financial ruin, make their budget stretch further, that kind of crap. He was about to change channels when he heard the host say “Fast-food is just such a waste!” He hesitated, glanced at the other bed to make sure Sam was still napping, and was greeted by his little chest moving up and down peacefully. He returned to the television, paying rapt attention. The announcer continued, explaining how by designing a simple meal plan and buying groceries ahead of time, you could get many more meals at home than you could from a restaurant, even a cheap one. Dean didn’t know how to do much math yet, but he knew the difference between ‘more’ and ‘less.’

So he had started watching the show more and more often while John was out, and then he had started checking out cooking shows and reading food magazines in the motel reception office. He did his research and planned ahead, then for three days Dean bought one adult meal instead of four kids meals, and gave most of it to Sammy anyway. He was hungry, starving actually, but he had managed to save up fifteen dollars. He walked into town and found a grocery store. He hunted down the pots, and bought the cheapest one he could, and then went to the canned meal aisle. He knew he couldn’t buy fresh food, they were on the move too often to make that possible, but he bought cans of soup, of spaghetti-os and ravioli in tins. He got to the check out and carefully placed his bounty on the counter. 

The clerk had a kind face, and she looked at him in a confused manner, questioning his being so young and on his own. “Have you lost your mommy, hon?”

Dean only winced for a half a second at the truth of the phrasing before responding as sweetly as possible. “She’s back home, but she doesn’t feel well. She asked me to run to the store to pick these up for her. My baby brother’s there, and Dad’s out of town for work. I’m old enough, it’s fine.”

“Oh, ok then.” Her face showed something, Dean wasn’t sure what it was, but she looked sad and happy at the same time. He didn’t really think too much on it, it didn’t matter. He had succeeded, and now he could make Sammy dinner. Take care of him. “That’s 16.07 hon.”

He faltered. He pushed across the fifteen dollars and said “That’s all I have, it’s not enough, is it?” The cashier counted and sadly shook her head. 

“It’s enough if we take out this can of soup. Sound ok?” He nodded, and then left triumphantly with his bounty and a concerned look he never noticed from the till. The crisis had been avoided and he’d be able to cook for Sammy tonight.

He struggled with the heavy and cumbersome bags on his walk back to the motel, but never faltered. When he unlocked the door he found Sam watching cartoons just the way he had left him. “Hey Sammy, what do you want for dinner?” Sam lit up and came tumbling over, his awkward little legs unable to keep up with the momentum of his enthusiasm. “Easy there, it’s ok. Which one do you want?” And he knelt down, holding a can of ravioli in one hand and a can of chicken noodle soup in the other. Sam grasped the ravioli can with both hands, giggling slightly. He liked this game.

“What? Me too! Good choice Sammy!” And he ruffled his brother’s hair before scooting him back to the tv. He turned around, grabbed the luggage rack from the closet and carefully climbed onto it, being sure to place his feet strategically across the webbing. Reading the can carefully, he peeled back the lid and poured the contents into to pot, and set the stove to “medium-high” just like it said. At first he was impatient that nothing was happening, and he was worried he had done it wrong, that he had wasted their money on some stupid idea. But then he smelled it. It was warm and rich and the tomatoes and ground beef permeated his nostrils, filled him with comfort and the feeling of home; he was so overwhelmed he almost fell off the make-shift stool. 

After 8 minutes it wasn’t “gently bubbling,” so he risked going all the way to the 12-minute mark, at which point it looked and smelled heavenly. He cautiously stretched up to grab two bowls and very carefully poured the contents between them. He used his fork to mash Sam’s up a bit, and tested to make sure it wasn’t too hot. Then he returned to the tv and passed it to his brother, who was engrossed in whether this ACME device would finally be the one to defeat that infernal roadrunner. “Here Sammy, dinnertime.”

Dean froze. He suddenly remembered the way his mom’s voice sounded when she used to say that. He remembered before, when things weren’t terrible, when they were a family, and even if John did drink a bit too much, there was enough love among them to make up for it. He quickly ate his dinner, sitting behind Sam so he couldn’t see his glistening eyes. As soon as he was done he hid in the bathroom until he could make it stop. When he finally emerged, Sam’s face was a discoloured smear of tomato sauce and he looked positively gleeful. Beaming up at Dean, he trundled over and uttered precious words, “Tanks Dean,” and wrapped his arms around his brother’s thighs. Dean held him back, knowing he had made the right choice, that the hunger hadn’t mattered, that he would always take care of Sammy.

Over the next several months he hid the pot in his duffel along with the cans, and soon he was making them dinner every night. He started buying cereal too, so that they could have proper breakfasts with milk from the vending machines. He felt better than he had in the last two years, and started to think that while Sammy couldn’t have four walls, he would always have a home with Dean; he would always take care of him. Over the years Dean learned to make new foods, first branching out awkwardly to mac’n’cheese, but then to grilled cheese, and more. The few times John stopped back in Kansas they’d spend all their time with Ellen and Jo, John sleeping in the car and not even coming through the door. Eventually it got so bad their uncle Bobby was called in to run interference between John and Ellen. The boys always loved visiting Bobby, Ellen, and Jo. When Ellen learned Dean’s secret, she taught him how to make more adventurous dishes: casseroles, pastas that didn’t come from a can, and stir-fries. Almost everything she taught them could be made from whatever you had on hand, which meant Dean could keep a small stash of rice and pasta in his duffel, and mix them with whatever he could find, or steal, or even buy, when they stopped at the next motel. Along with the pot was now a frying pan Ellen had slipped him with a conspiratorial wink the night before they had left.

The next visit to Ellen’s he had noticed Bobby was already there when they arrived, but he didn’t really think about it much. That trip Ellen had taught him to make cheeseburgers, and it had changed his life. He could now make his favourite food whenever he wanted (as long as he had enough saved up from what John left out), and it was always a special treat. He continued to learn to prepare new and creative foods, though he’d never become one of guys into kale salad with strawberries and almonds or whatever. But through all those dishes, after all this time, Dean’s pretty sure his brother has no idea that to this day canned ravioli is still Dean’s favourite meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [ here ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean head out on the open road for the nerdiest roadtrip Dean has _ever_ been on. It's both not as awkward as he expected and also sooooo much more so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter, I love how extremely dorky I am, and I hope you guys are enjoying this Magical Nerdery Tour. Yay learning about ancient history because there's gonna be smut eventually!!! Muahaha I'll trick you all into learning about the Romans!!! But honestly, this guy studied Sicilian gesticulation and compared it to Roman statuary and has basically reconstructed how Romans signed and I think this is the most fascinating approach to orality and I just had to include it in a fic cause I don't have the balls to properly do it like I have happen here but I love the idea and wanted to share it. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Thanks for your comments and kudos guys, I adore getting messages saying you're yelling at me!
> 
> ***On a more serious note, this chapter discusses some horrible childhood stuff their dads did (canon compliant, but still, horrible). It's all in fairly vague terms, but if that could upset you please stop after the dinner and pm me and I'll catch you up without those bits. Take care of yourselves lovelies.***

The drive to the conference is awesome. The roads are clear, the sun’s shining, and he and Cas alternate between chatting, singing along to his rock tapes (ok to be fair, that’s pretty much just Dean, but still), or just driving with a comfortable silence between them, not needing meaningless words to fill it. They check into the hotel and have a room with two queens, which is no big deal. Sure, they haven’t known each other that long, but it’s fine, right? They go upstairs to drop their stuff off before Cas has to go sign in to the conference.

“Shotty the left!” Dean yells, collapsing on the bed. Cas just shakes his head and sets up on the other bed, his brows starting to knit. Dean instantly notices. “Man, relax, you’ve got this. Seriously, you’re going to do awesome.” Cas looks up with an anxious look on his face, like he’s seeking Dean’s approval, and then slowly starts to nod. Dean can’t believe it, the guy’s a professor, he’s almost a doctor, and he’s nervous about presenting on something he’s a goddamn expert in. It’s unreal, and Dean tells him as much.

He ends up in front of Cas, clasping both his shoulders. “Just be yourself, own it, and trust that you know this stuff inside out, k?” Cas avoids eye contact for longer than Dean’s ever seen, but eventually does look up, locks eyes with him, and finally seems to believe him. Dean nods again encouragingly, hoping Cas will somehow internalize it.

That evening Cas mingles with the other conference attendees for a while, and Dean goes to pick up some beer and then hangs out in their room watching the crappy hotel cable. He’s had a few and is busy telling the television characters just how stupid they are, when to his surprise Cas comes back around 10pm.

“Calling it already?” But he can see from Cas’ face he’s just tired of socializing with strangers, something Dean can understand. “No worries. Here, I’ll catch you up.” At which point he grabs Cas a beer and starts explaining the not so intricate plot of the ridiculous movie he’s watching. Cas just nods, eyes not quite focused on the tv, but brows no longer knit, so Dean considers it a win.

They hang out like this for a few hours, watching tv from their respective beds, when Cas stands and starts getting ready for bed. He goes into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, which Dean only half notices, then closes the door to use the toilet and change. Dean’s still focused on the movie when Cas emerges from the bathroom wearing just sleeper bottoms. Dean can’t help but be distracted, and finds himself taking in Cas’ upper body greedily, surprising himself, staring at the rippling arms, the shoulders that could have been sculpted from marble. He then notices the sharp definition of his hips and his, what’s it called again, oh yeah, Adonis belt. Suddenly he feels Cas noticing him, and he opens his mouth a little, looking for a reasonable excuse.

“Damnit Cas. You can’t see that through your dress shirts,” gesturing at his shoulders and he takes a swig of beer and goes back to the movie, trying not to process Cas’ smile or how sharing a room suddenly feels like a truly terrible idea.

Once Cas is in bed Dean goes and gets ready as well, then emerges in his boxers and a tee and tries to go to bed as quickly as possible, but he’s not fast enough to evade Cas’ gaze. “You can’t see that under all your layers either Dean.” He says it softly, but it almost sounds like a threat, like a quid pro quo that Cas intends to win. Dean tries to shake it off and wishes Cas a good night. This trip is already weird, and it’s only Friday.

*          *          *

Cas is presenting in a panel right after lunch Saturday, so Dean’s going to sleep in and have breakfast in bed while Cas attends the morning panels. They’ve made arrangements to meet for lunch, then head to the conference room together. Cas is still all nerves, even though Dean can honestly not understand why. Dean ends up checking out the hotel gym, working out for a bit after breakfast, then grabs a shower and puts on the one dress shirt he owns and brought for this. It’s black, and he’s wearing a scarlet tie and black vest, which makes him look pretty damn fine, if he’s honest with himself. He heads downstairs just before noon and hunts out Cas.

“Dean, hey! Over……here” The last word Dean barely hears, and it looks like Cas has been frozen.

“Cas, you good?” His voice seems to shake the professor out of his trance.

“Yes. Good. Very good. I mean, yes, I’m fine. You look…nice.” Cas is being weird, but honestly, that’s kind of his M.O., so Dean shrugs it off.

“You ready?” And he leads them to lunch.

The beginning of the meal is spent with Dean shoving his face and Cas picking at his food, until Dean calls him on it. “Dude. Come on.”

“Dean you don’t understand, this is the Annual Conference on Orality and Literacy in the Ancient World, and it’s a really big deal. My entire career is basically on the line.”

Dean shakes his head, grinning calmly. “No Cas, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. You’re awesome, and you’ve got this. You are an expert, a legit expert, and your career is in safe hands, because you’re a rockstar. Now eat something so you don’t pass out, then go kick some academic ass.”

Cas smiles, and Dean still can’t get over how his eyes crinkle when he does. Cas eats a bit more after that, and drinks all his water, and seems to have calmed down a bit by the end. Dean steers him into the conference hall, and he’s overwhelmed by how many people are there. No wonder Cas is intimidated. But he hides that, because one of them has to keep their shit together. He drops Cas off at the front of the hall and grabs him by the shoulders again before leaving, just making eye contact and willing him to understand how much faith Dean has in him. Cas seems to comprehend, and nods appreciatively, so Dean goes to find his seat. Normally he would sit at the very back of something life this, but he promised Cas he could present directly to him if he got nervous while on stage, so he should probably not sit much past the middle rows. He finds a good central spot and settles down, preparing to be bored by every other presenter and to smile supportively at Cas the whole time he’s up there. 

Soon chatter dissipates and a woman in a skirt suit gets on stage and starts introducing the panel, using words and titles he doesn’t really understand. But when she introduces Professor Castiel Novak Dean mouths a “Whooot!” exaggerated enough for Cas to see, and from the smile that threatens to appear on his face he knows it worked.

First off is someone talking about Homer, and Dean knows enough to make a joke about it not being the one from the Simpsons. Honestly he kinda wishes it was though since even though he knows the story, he’s still having trouble paying any attention to this complicated nonsense, and that’s before the PowerPoint starts being in Ancient Greek. He starts to whisper to his neighbour “It’s all Greek to me” when he sees that they’re focused with rapt attention, and then it occurs to him that anyone in Classics has probably heard that joke a thousand times and he really doesn’t want to be the asshole that finally makes someone go postal over it. So he goes back to nodding and not understanding, counting the minutes until Cas starts, cause at least he kinda knows he’ll get his talk. Plus it doesn’t have any Greek in it.

When the speaker finishes Dean claps with everyone else, and then makes eye contact with Cas and makes it clear that he was clapping for him, pre-emptively. Dean hears Cas be introduced, and sees him get up and walk onto the stage, looking so professional, and calm as can be, even though Dean can tell he’s still nervous. He makes a point of smiling and nodding every time Cas seeks him out, sending his confidence to Cas. And then he sees him take a deep breath, and it’s like a switch has been flipped and he becomes Professor Novak.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentleman, my name is Castiel Novak, and as you heard, I will be presenting on rhetorical gesticulation in Republican oration. However, I would like to take this opportunity to present my research in a slightly… unorthodox manner.” Dean hears a slight murmur start to pass through the audience and he wishes he could tell everyone to shut up, because he can see Cas hear it and it’s making him second guess himself. But he finds Dean’s encouraging face, takes a deep breath, and turns into an entirely different person. 

“I would like, if I may, to have your attention.” And his arms are extended out to one side, and for a second he looks like an old statue, with fingers clasped together strangely, but then he’s moving, dynamic, and filled with a life Dean never associated with all the old Roman shit he’d seen. “Let us imagine that we are in Rome, in the curia in the forum, in the heart of our city, our country, and our fatherland.” Cas keeps moving his arms, arranging his fingers just so, positioning his arms at certain angles, pointing with two, three, or four fingers, and Dean knows that every single one those motions is calculated and part of the rules Cas had told him about. And it’s a thing of beauty. Dean watches Cas proceed through this paper like a dancer through choreography, and Cas really has arranged all these weird poses from the ancient world into a seamless routine, emphasizing his points and clarifying the key aspects, and it’s just incredible to watch. Dean finds himself mesmerized, and he never, ever thought that would happen during an academic conference. It’s the most graceful thing he’s ever witnessed, and Dean is enveloped by it, lets himself be carried away.

When Cas finishes his last stance, and his voice stills, he pauses for a second and then returns his arms to his side and bows his head slightly. He looks for all the world like he’s waiting for a death sentence. Instead, Dean is relieved to hear, Cas is inundated by wave after wave of applause, and suddenly everyone is standing up and Cas, his Cas, is getting a standing ovation. It’s a fantastic feeling, and he can’t stop grinning up at Cas as he stands there, beaming, letting it wash over him.

When it finally dies down Cas returns to his seat, and the next presenter takes the stage. He chuckles a little nervously, and says “I honestly have to follow that?” And everyone laughs and suddenly it’s not some weird stodgy room of boring people, it’s a room filled with people who are fascinated with Cas and completely seized by his passion for his subject. And Dean finally _gets_ it.

During question period the other two presenters get a question or two each, but almost everyone’s fighting to ask Cas about his technique, and how he practiced, and how he learned, and what made him want to do this. He smiles and clears his throat. “Well, I was talking to a friend from outside academia, and we were discussing the enrolment crisis in humanities, and specifically in Classics. And through our conversations he taught me that we needed to translate this material, not just the texts. We need to make this information come alive or else no one’s going to want to learn it, and that’s when these civilizations will really die.”

The entire room ripples with murmured agreement, and Dean can’t believe how proud he feels that in even the tiniest way he contributed to this success of Cas’, that he helped make this moment happen. Cas catches his eye in the midst of it all and just grins at him so wide Dean’s worried the guy’s going to hurt himself, and then to his surprise he realizes he’s grinning just as hard.

*          *          *

That night a bunch of fancy professors ask if they can take Cas out for dinner to “further discuss his innovative approach.” Groan. But Cas can’t help smiling and agrees. He says Dean has to come though, to which there are no protests from the academics. They end up at some really swanky joint near the hotel, and Dean’s very grateful he’s wearing a tie and even more nervous about how he’s going to pay for this. Cas must have noticed because he leans over and calmly mentions “They’re buying us dinner, Dean, calm down.” _What? Seriously?_ Cas reads his shocked expression like a neon sign and just nods once, willing Dean to pull it together a bit. Right, fancy work thing, he can do this. Ugh…

He zones in and out of most of the conversation, but when it’s Cas doing the majority of the talking he pays attention, because Cas makes a point of speaking a language that Dean understands. It’s not that he’s more condescending that the others, the opposite in fact; he doesn’t dumb down anything, but he actually explains what he’s talking about, rather than pretending that Dean breathes this stuff. As dinner wraps up the questions shift from rhetoric to accessibility.

“Professor Novak, may I call you Castiel?” It’s the lady in the skirt suit, the one who introduced him at the panel. “You mentioned discussing academia with an external friend, how did that come about?” 

Cas smiles a little, and tilts his head towards Dean. “Well, this would be that friend, and we meet up a few times a week. I talk about oratory and classic lit, he talks about the civil war and classic rock, and we learn from each other.” It’s such a nice way to describe their friendship, and Dean finds himself grinning like a fool while he tears a chunk off of the free bread roll still on the table in front of him. He throws a wink in for good measure when skirt-suit looks at him. 

“He once described Cato the Elder as a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum for not getting his way.” And everyone at the table bursts into laughter. Dean’s slightly confused learning that he apparently made a Classics joke, but he decides to focus on how it’s helping Cas interact more comfortably than usual, and so he lets it go. A few minutes later Cas glances at Dean and then stands up. “Well we had a lovely time, but need to depart early tomorrow, so we should probably call it a night. Thank you very much for the company.” They all start tripping over themselves to shake his hand, and telling him how it’s their pleasure to nourish the stomach and mind of a brilliant young scholar, and Dean is so confused about how this is actually part of Cas’ job, but he’s also grateful Cas knew he wanted to leave.

“Are you actually tired?” He asks him as they’re leaving the fancy restaurant, worried that he’s just ruined Cas’ future or something. To his relief Cas actually laughs before reaching to undo his suit jacket buttons.

“God no, I’m just done with academics. Hotel bar?” He grins at Dean and winks as he loosens his tie for the first time’s Dean ever seen and unbuttons his sleeves and starts to roll them up.

Dean grins ear to ear. “Read my mind.” And he follows suit, relaxing his formal attire too walking with Cas to the lounge. “Booth?” And they end up in a comfortable booth around the back corner that provides them line of sight protection should anyone from dinner come in to the bar, as well as a comfortable place to celebrate the day.

Once their drinks arrive he raises his drink. “Cas man, you were awesome today. To you!” And he lifts up his beer to cheers Cas.

Cas blushes but cheers Dean shyly. “To be honest, this feels amazing. Especially after the past few months stressing about this, and school, and, well, um, it’s just…it’s lovely.” He takes a sip, looking more relaxed than Dean’s seen him since they met.

“Well, sometimes you eat the bar…” He raises his bottle again and then takes a swig, feeling more like himself, even though the dress shirt is still a bit strange. Cas looks genuinely confused.

“Why would you eat a bar?” He asks, squinting at Dean as if perhaps he misheard him. Dean has to laugh.

“No, Cas, it’s an expression. ‘Sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes the bar eats you.’” Cas is still staring at him, so he elaborates. “It’s how cowboys say bear. It’s in the _Big Lebowski_?” He volunteers, hoping to give Cas some bearings.

“Haven’t seen it.” Cas grins, shaking his head slightly, unaware of the fury he has just accidentally incurred. 

Dean smashes down his drink in exaggerated horror. “I can not believe you’ve never seen the _Big Lebowski_. We’re fixing this. Next Friday, do you have plans? Come over, we’ll watch it.”

Cas chuckles, clearly amused by Dean’s outrage. “Sure, it’s a date.” And he smiles at Dean with downcast eyes, and it’s comfortable, even though Dean’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be.

“Well, alright then.” Dean nods once, with satisfaction completely at odds with forcing a friend to watch a cult classic, and is taking another swig from the bottle when Cas suddenly raises his finger as if in a legitimate moment of revelation. Dean almost chokes on his beer Cas looks so forceful.

“To every thing there is a season.” He announces it like it’s the clearest thing ever, and he has just seen the light. This sentiment, however, is not universal.

“What?” Dean is completely lost. Which to be fair has kinda been par for the case today, but still, not usually with Cas, who suddenly realises that Dean can’t necessarily always read his mind and elaborates.

“To everything there is a season. Sometimes you eat the bear. The _bar_.” He amends under Dean’s critical gaze. “Ecclesiastes 3:1,” he continues, and Dean looks at him seriously now, and Cas finds himself saying the rest before he really means to. “My father….he was a very, uh, religious man. All of us could recite key scripture by the age of five. He took our _education_ very seriously.” Dean notices the tone Cas uses for ‘education,’ and Dean’s pretty sure there’s more there. But he’s not going to push. He of all people knows.

“I hear ya. My dad, well, he was no father of the year either.” Cas looks at Dean with a sad smile, and Dean recognizes it because he’s worn it too. It’s the face of someone you can trust, who you can confide in, because they understand whatever terrible thing you’re telling them. He’s gotten that smile from Bobby and Ellen so many times now, he knows it well. It broke his heart the first time Sam smiled at him like that; he had tried his whole life to protect him from the ugly truth, and to know that Sam felt the pain deep inside too, that he wanted to be the one to comfort Dean, that was just too hard.

“He, uh, he drank. A lot. Well,” he gestures at his beer, realizing the hypocrisy. “Acorn, tree, etc. But he drank more. Too much. To the point where it interfered with work. With home. With….with our mom.” He takes a deep breath. He’s never talked to Cas about his mom. But he feels like it’s ok, so he tries to keep going. “His drinking led him to do things he wouldn’t have done otherwise, and then she was gone, and then it was me taking care of Sammy while he was off on some bender, or holed up hungover. When I was old enough to drive I stole the car and drove to my aunt and uncle’s, they took us in, and we’re still here.” He wraps up a little too quickly, skips some substantial parts of the story, but it’s enough for now.

Cas looks at him with compassion and affection, but no pity, and Dean’s so grateful not to find it there. Cas clearly feels encouraged by Dean’s confession, and he shudders before continuing. “We were never good enough. There were a lot of us, but even combined I don’t think we could have been a good enough child for him. He set the bar very high, and when you didn’t reach it, he provided additional…motivation.” He draws the word from his gut likes he’s extracting poison, cleansing himself. “He refused to have ignorant children so he sent us all to the best boarding schools, and then to the best universities for our bachelors. When I came home and told him I had applied for grad school he told me the two degrees were a vanity, and that he would have nothing to do with that. He refused to contribute anything during my masters, and we rarely spoke. When I announced a few Christmases ago that I had been accepted to do my Ph.D. here he told me I was guilty of pride and arrogance, and that he wouldn’t have a son like that. He told me to leave, I did, and I haven’t had contact with him since. Turns out my faith in him was…misplaced.”

He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. And Dean knows that exhaustion. He wants to hold Cas and tell him it’s ok, but he’s not really a hugger and neither is Cas so that wouldn’t help and would in fact be really weird. He sees Cas slipping away, afraid his confession will be rejected and that Dean will spurn him. He makes a snap decision to keep him here, keep them connected, but to steer to safe waters.

“Ok, gotcha, no bible movies. What else haven’t you seen?”

*          *          *

By the time they stumble up to their room Dean has a list on his phone of twenty movies that Cas has never seen, and some he’s never even heard of, and Dean has insisted that Cas starts coming over every Friday since university is clearly leaving some major gaps in his curriculum. It takes the two of them five tries to get either of their room keys to work, and even then it’s an elaborate coordination of Cas swiping his card and hissing “ok go!” when it turns green, at which point Dean turns the handle and body checks the door so hard they end up in a pile just inside the door giggling and shh-ing each other and trying to remember the last time they had this much fun.

By bending their legs slightly they manage to give the door clearance, but they collapse again from the effort, and suddenly Dean realizes that he’s lying in his friends arms, legs intertwined, giggling, and he would absolutely destroy Sam if he ever caught him doing something like this with one of his friends, say, Kevin; he’d never let him live it down. Yet with him and Cas, he doesn’t actually mind. It’s not as weird as his mind is telling him it should be, and he’s far too drunk to deal with those thoughts right now anyway. As their breathing steadies he looks over to see Cas mere inches from his face. He’s used to Cas in his space, dude’s got a legitimate problem, but this is even closer than usual. Dean can feel the breath on his cheek, and he can’t look into his eyes without crossing his own. They stay paused like that, the moment extending, and Dean unsure how it might end. But then Cas lies back, and mutters “Tomorrow is going to suck.” It’s the least articulate Dean’s ever heard him, and he starts giggling again, which sets Cas off too.

Whatever the hell that was, it’s over, and Dean gets up and tries to stumble to the bed. He gets most of the way there, looses one shoe, and then collapses face first without even bothering to get undressed. Tomorrow Dean can think about that moment, and whatever it might have meant. Now Dean wants sleep. And he drifts off, smiling as he passes into blissful unconsciousness, and trying to determine if he just heard an affectionate “tsk” before he’s completely submerged in the familiar black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal gratitude to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic! Thank you doll!!!!
> 
> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and the drive home don't go quite according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adoring reading everyone's comments as you work through this, thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts with me!!! Eternal and endless gratitude to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic!
> 
> Trigger Warning: there's a panic attack in this chapter.

As it turns out Tomorrow Dean doesn’t remember most of that, just vague fun times and good feelings before passing out. Driving back from the conference he can’t remember feeling happier. He’s driving his baby cross-state, listening to one of his favourite tapes, and he’s got an academic rockstar sitting beside him. He never thought the conference would be cool, but even he can’t deny how much Cas fucking owned that presentation. He chuckles to himself, thinking that Sam and Cas are rubbing off on him, contaminating him with their nerdiness.

“Dean?” Cas’ low voice interrupts his thoughts. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he smiles, “just thinking about how you’re turning me into a nerd.” Cas smiles back, then resumes gazing out the window. Dean feels content, and it feels good to be this happy. He wonders idly if it’ll last, but then realizes he really doesn’t care. He’s happy now and he’s going to enjoy that, enjoy it for as long as he can. Last night was good; they had been more honest than he usually likes, but it’s comfortable knowing that they’re both a little fucked up, and that they get that about each other too. They grabbed some coffee and muffins off the continental buffet before hitting the road, so they don’t have to stop till they get home, and Dean’s happily contemplating the road ahead when Van Halen comes on.

“Cas, hey man, it’s your song!” And he turns it up. Cas stares at the dash, waiting to recognize it. Of course he doesn’t know it yet, and Dean shakes his head, knowing he should know better by now. “It’s Hot for Teacher. Oh man, in high school once, I had this English teacher, Ms. Powell, man she was -”

“Why is this my song?” Cas interrupts, staring at Dean and challenging his assertion with a glare Dean imagines he usually reserves for kids explaining that they need an extension because their other grandmother just died, their third one this term. Dean’s caught a little off guard; he never meant to start a fight.

“Cause man, you owned that conference, and like, half your students are in love with you. Hell, Sam can’t stop talking about how awesome you are; you’re all he talks about these days, other than Jess. I dunno, you dress nice, and are cool, and just,” he trails off, suddenly very self-conscious. “I just figured you knew that your kids loved having you for a teacher, that’s all.” He ends softly, cautiously, like Cas is likely to bolt, even though they’re flying down the interstate.

Dean hazards a glance to his right and Cas is still staring at him, but there’s something else behind his eyes. It makes Dean feel sad and guilty and he has no idea why, but he feels like he’s in trouble. But why? Didn’t he just give Cas a freaking compliment? Although he’s looking at the road again he can still feel Cas staring at him, though eventually he exhales long and slow, sits back into his seat, and mutters “Right. The kids.”

“Hey, Cas, I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean to upset you, I was just messing around. I… I was honestly trying to give you a compliment.” Dean confesses this awkwardly, his mouth not used to relaying raw information from his brain like that without a filter. He hopes Cas understands.

“Ok,” is all he gets back, and then Cas is leaning against the window staring off into nothingness, and Dean is cursing himself, and suddenly his drive home looks mighty long.

About fifty miles later Dean just can’t take the silence anymore, so he announces he needs to grab gas. Cas looks at him slightly inquisitively, since Dean told him just that morning that they wouldn’t have to stop on the drive home, but he just nods and returns his gaze to the view. Dean takes the next exit, and as he’s gassing up Cas gets out to stretch his legs. He returns a few minutes later with two coffees, and extends a hand towards Dean, peace offering steaming in front of him.

“Black?” Dean nods and takes it as he finishes up with the pump. “Look, Dean, I’m sorry,” Dean tries to interrupt him but Cas puts up a hand and Dean surprises himself by how much he wants to recognize that authority. Teacher Cas is taking control of the situation, and Dean lets him. “I completely overreacted, that was childish of me. Can you forgive me?”

Dean chuckles, feeling very awkward and very on the spot. Of course he can forgive him, Dean’s the one who made it all go to shit, what’s Cas even apologizing for? “Whatever man, we’re good.”

Cas grimaces, like he’s trying to understand Dean’s reaction. “Just, Cas, it’s fine. We’re good.” They smile awkwardly, hesitantly, at each other, trying to find their way back to normalcy, and tentatively return to jibes and banter for the rest of the drive. Dean still can’t figure out what he did to set Cas off, but he tries not to dwell on it too much because they’re cool now, and anyway, if Cas wanted him to know, he’d have told him. It’s no big deal. Though he doesn’t comment on the music anymore.

Couple hundred miles later they’re almost home, and they’ve fallen into a comfortable silence, just driving and listening to the sounds of the highway mixed with rock tapes so old and loved it’s a wonder they still work. As he’s taking their exit he notices Survivor’s starting up, and he smiles. He likes this song.

He starts singing along, relaxing back into himself. No reason to walk on egg shells anyway. “ _And I feel the hand of fate, reaching out to both of us. I’ve been holding back the night, I’ve been searching for a clue from you.”_

As they reach the chorus he really lets go, drumming away on the steering wheel, just enjoying the drive, the sunshine, and the music. “ _I can’t hold back, I’m on the edge. I can’t hold back, your voice explodes inside my head. I can’t hold back, I won’t back down_.”

_Wait. What?_ Dean feels like he might drive off the road. He tries to catch his breath while he’s pretty sure his heart is about to beat right out of chest. _What the hell? What the fucking hell?_ This makes no sense, how can Dean feel so awful just from a stupid song? His mind is racing and he’s trying to put it together and suddenly –

“Dean?” Cas’ voice derails his thoughts with the gentlest tone, it’s sweet and cautious and genuinely concerned. “Dean, what’s wrong?” 

Dean comes back enough to realize he’s gripping the wheel white-knuckled, his breathing is ragged and he can feel the sweat beading along his forehead. And he has completely overshot Cas’ turn. “I missed your turn.” It sounds so small compared to everything happening inside his mind and his body that it doesn’t even begin to explain it, so he awkwardly adds, “Sorry.” Smooth move Winchester, that totally makes up for it.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas is turned in his seat now, facing Dean with real affection, and Dean doesn’t know why that makes everything hurt more but his heart is going faster and his fingers clench even more tightly. He tries to find a way to explain that he’s having a panic attack maybe, or that he could be dying, or that for no apparent reason his entire body is trying to explode. He hasn’t felt this scared since he was a kid hiding Sammy in a motel closet on the roughest nights.

“I’m fine.” Damn. Not quite as articulate as he was hoping for. “I just, uh, I got distracted. I’ll, I’ll take you home.” Ya, that’ll work. Sure.

Cas looks like he’s about to ask Dean another question, but then closes his mouth, shakes his head slightly, and sits back, facing straight forward. Dean’s positive that Cas is glancing over at him every few minutes, but he can’t focus on that right now, right now he needs to concentrate on not killing them both and crashing his baby while he’s dying for no apparent reason other than listening to a fucking rock song in his fucking car.

They pull up to Cas’ building and he puts it in park. There’s an awkward pause where neither speaks or moves, trying to figure out what to do next. Dean blurts out “Nice work at the conference,” hoping that was the right thing, and why is he suddenly worried about what the right thing to say is?

Cas just nods. “Thank you for the ride.” He grabs his bag from the back seat, and closes the door. He takes two steps then turns around and leans down to the window. He has that same expression on, the concerned, about to say something face, but then he thinks better of it, raises a hand in a meek wave, and goes inside.

Dean exhales as if he hasn’t breathed in hours, as if he’s breaking the surface of the water after thinking he’d never breathe again. What the hell is happening? He knows he shouldn’t be driving like this, but he’s just a few blocks from home, and if he can make it there then he can just figure this out. He tentatively puts it back into gear, and starts heading home.

Sam’s out when he gets home, thank god, and he heads straight upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. It’s only when he’s safely in his room with the door shut and locked that he stops trying to stop it from happening. Suddenly he’s shaking on the floor, his heart is pounding so hard he can hear it in his head, can feel the _ba-boom, ba-boom_ , and he can’t catch his breath. He lets it wash over him, knowing he can’t stop it, and tries to figure out what is happening. He was just driving along listening to tunes and then freaked out. Ok, that doesn’t make any fucking sense.

And then he realizes that he sounds like his clueless customers when they come into the shop: “I was just driving and suddenly the car decided to stop working. I have no idea why!” He solves those problems, he can solve this one. First of all he knows nothing’s wrong with his baby, so that can’t have been it. Ok. The roads were fine, so he didn’t get spooked by traffic or weather or anything. What else was happening, think Dean. Ok, Cas, Cas was sitting there, minding his own business, smiling at Dean singing along to that song, and…

_Ho…ly….shit._ _No way_. There’s half a thought there but it’s too huge, of a magnitude beyond grasping. Dean’s brain is trying to process this but it’s the biggest problem he has ever tried to solve, so it’s quite a challenge. It’s like trying to remember a dream: the harder he tries, the more nebulous the idea becomes. He can feel the idea in his hands, but when he tries to close them it billows away like smoke. So he starts singing again, trying to give himself something to focus on so that his brain can run that program in the background and figure out what it’s trying to tell him.

“ _I’m gonna try with all my might, to make this story line come true.” Don’t grasp, Dean, it’ll come_. He has to keep reminding himself.

“ _Can you feel me tremble when we touch, can you feel the hand of fate.”_ _Don’t grasp_. But he’s impatient, and he feels like this is a good epiphany he’s trying to have, he just wants to have it already.

“ _Reaching out to both of us, this love affair can’t wait.”_

Oh. _Oh._

Well.

_Huh_. Suddenly he can breathe again, though his hands still feel clammy. _So, that’s…? Huh. That’s what’s been going on?_ And then he looks back at the last few months and suddenly, with this new thought in his mind, he can see that _of course_ that’s been what was happening. How had he not noticed this? How had he not put it together until today? Does Cas know? If he didn’t, did he figure it out from Dean’s freak out?

And suddenly he remembers earlier that morning. How Cas got so mad at him for saying that his kids must be in love with him. Dean groans and buries his face in his hands; no wonder Cas got so upset _. Jesus Dean, how obtuse can you be? He must have thought I was trying to hit on him, to tell him something, and god look how well that went_. Ya, pretty sure it’s safe to assume Cas knows.

Dean tries to stop himself from spiralling out of control again ‘cause he can feel the panic creeping in again. _Focus on the problem, go back to treating it like a diagnostic session at the shop_. Ok so Cas knows. Dean knows. Cas got mad at Dean when he thought he was trying to make a move. So, maybe they can still be friends, just maybe, but he totally can’t let on any more than he already has. _Ok, cars, you can do this Dean_. So you think you’ve found the problem, and maybe a solution. What next?

_What next?_ He starts pacing the room, trying to figure it out. Then he gets it. You’d replace the part and see how the car handles it, see if that’s solved the problem. Ok. So he’ll just replace that part of their…relationship, or whatever, and see how Cas reacts. Observe. Then he’ll reassess and determine if that was the right way to solve this problem, to fix this engine. He sighs again, but starts to smile a little, and he feels good having a plan of attack. Dean’s a man of action, he doesn’t want to sit around and see what happens next. He’ll make sure they go back to being friends and that he doesn’t mess this up. And just to prove that he’s fine with it he pulls out his phone and texts Cas.

_> >Sorry about that man, just got a bit light-headed. Probably haven’t eaten enough. _

That takes care of that. Then just to ensure they’re still on track, he sends another.

_> >Have a good night, I’ll see you for drinks Tuesday?_

He’s not going to ruin their routine, he’s not going to appear eager, he’s going to play it cool and see how this goes.

_< <Glad you’re ok. Yes, see you then._

Ok, so at least on the surface everything’s fine. He throws the phone on the bed and goes back downstairs to marathon the entire Star Wars trilogy, because a problem this big needs the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [ here ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the week following the conference and Dean's terrified he's jeopardized their friendship. But he played it cool Sunday, so surely that was sufficient damage control, right? RIGHT?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start getting a bit racier from here on out, but still super slowly cause why on earth would I make this painless; consider the fic rating upped.

Tuesday sneaks up on Dean really quickly, and he’s suddenly running around the shop at the end of the day trying to finish everything up and he can’t decide if he’s trying to make sure he’s finished everything so he can leave a little early or if he’s looking for things to keep him late _. Jesus, man, get a hold of yourself. You’re going out for beer with your best friend. Like you have every Tuesday for months. It’s not a big deal. Except now you know you’re crazy about him. But other than that –_

Somehow he doesn’t find himself very comforting.

He gets home and has trouble picking which Henley to wear. _Are you kidding me, this is so fucking high school!_ Dean can’t believe how flustered he’s getting about this. But he’s going to play it cool, and totally maintain the upper hand and not let on to Cas that he’s been thinking about him non-stop for basically 48 hours straight.

Ok, maybe “straight” is a poor choice of words.

He finally throws on the army green one thinking it might bring out his eyes, and then hates himself so much for even thinking that. He’s groaning as he heads back down the stairs and nearly bumps into his brother, which, given that said brother takes up nearly the entire stairwell, shows how distracted he really is. He’d kinda forgotten Sam doesn’t have classes late on Tuesdays this term, and how that somehow hasn’t affected his schedule with Cas.

“Whoa, Dean, are you ok?” He does not, repeat _not_ , want to talk to Sammy about this right now. The last thing he needs is for his little brother to go full-on Travelling Pants on him.

“Fine man, just, distracted. Mind moving your monolithic behind out of my way?” He grumbles dismissively, trying to end this exchange as quickly as possible, but Sam doesn’t move.

“It’s Tuesday, don’t you have drinks with Cas tonight? You’re late.” Sam’s face is one of concern, and there’s something else, but Dean doesn’t recognize it. Since when does Sam have expressions Dean doesn’t recognize?

Sigh. “Thanks genius, I know, that’s why I need you to move.” Sam looks at him, and Dean hopes to god he can’t see how flustered he feels, how his stomach keeps flipping like a burger on the grill, how he can feel a flush starting to creep up his neck. They’re staring each other down for too long, and Dean panics and barks out “Are we done here, princess?” Sam just shakes his head and steps out the way.

Just as he reaches the door Sam calls out “Dean,” and he pauses, waiting for the mocking to start. Instead he hears Sam say “That’s a nice shirt.” He turns to look back at his kid brother, searching for indications of sarcasm or general ass-hattery, but Sam looks like he’s genuinely trying to compliment him. It’s….weird.

“Uh, thanks?” Dean mumbles before taking off, thoroughly confused.

He gets to the bar late and Cas is already seated with two bottles in front of him, opened but untouched, glistening from the condensation. He puts away his book as Dean approaches, apologizing for being late. 

“It’s alright Dean, don’t worry.” Cas is always so chill, he never gets upset. _Except Sunday. Shit._ He’s been here thirty seconds and already thinking about that and getting flustered and _shit, shit shit_. “I trust you had no further, uh, trouble?”

_Crap! So much for maintaining the upper hand._ “Ya, no, thanks. I’m, uh, I’m good. I think I was just really hungover, you know?” He sits down and takes a swig of his beer, watching Cas nod absent-mindedly. “But I’m good. You?”

Cas smiles, nods, and brings the bottle to his mouth, and Dean’s staring at the lips he’s seen thousands of times, but now they contain another whole world of possibilities, of options that he can never explore, but he can’t help thinking about them, and he’s convinced that Cas will be able to read his thoughts.

He shakes his head and starts staring around the bar, when his eyes thankfully rest on the trivial pursuit boxes. _Thank god_. “Want to play?” Cas looks surprised but nods in agreement, and they spend the evening quizzing each other, saving Dean from trying to make conversation with the best friend he just realized he’s terrified of losing.

*          *          *

Thursday they’re drinking beers after dinner, just like any other night, and Dean’s flirting with the waitress, who flirts back, and he’s trying to stay cool with Cas. She turns to Castiel and he’s stiff and awkward and she ends up leaving in a bit of a huff, while Dean tries to use his eyes to apologize for Cas. Cas is legitimately in a terrible mood tonight, and Dean flatters himself into thinking it might not be his fault.

“Cas?” Is he really going to try to talk to him about this, about…feelings? “Is something wrong, man?” Cas just continues to glare at the table, not giving him any indication of his accuracy in this assessment. Dean suddenly feels a weird twist in his gut as he thinks he might understand what’s actually happening.

“Or, is it something else? I don’t mean to overstep here, but you sometimes have trouble reading people, don’t you? Or, at least, reading a situation? I mean, you can read me like a book, but with other people, you seem a bit more….unsure. You, you sometimes have trouble knowing whether you’re making someone uncomfortable, don’t you?” The way Cas just keeps staring in to his beer convinces Dean he might be right, and lets him dare to continue. “Would it help….would you like me to try and, I dunno, like, translate for you?”

This Cas looks up at. “What do you mean, translate?”

Oh hell, what the hell did he mean? “Would you like me to help you learn, like, the rules, like in your oratory stuff, for different situations? Like, when we’re together, would you like me to help you understand if you’re making someone uncomfortable, if they’d like you to back off?” He’s not sure that came out the way he meant it to, but he hopes Cas gets what he’s trying to say despite the fact that he’s being an awkward dick.

“Like, a social safe-word?” Dean chokes on his beer. He can’t handle the idea of Cas knowing what a safeword is. Then he can’t say the two words in his head at the same time. He just can’t. His mind goes to all kinds of filthy, incredible places he would love to explore, but he has to pull the e-brake on that one. He’s convinced he was about to say something brilliant, but suddenly there’s a lack of blood pumping through his brain, as it is now otherwise allocated.

“Um, ya, I guess. More like, well, Green Light/Red Light.” Cas looks at him inquisitively, and Dean’s about to elaborate when the waitress returns. She plunks down their round but softens at Cas’ apology, and pats his shoulder as she walks off.

“She stopped being mad at me.” Cas isn’t looking at Dean, just studying the table about eight inches in front of him, like it can explain to him what just happened if only he stares hard enough. Dean has an overwhelming desire to hold Cas’ hand, and just comfort him. Which is confusing, considering his brain still hasn’t gotten much blood back, and now he has a whole variety of mental images flashing behind his eyes. Cas’ voice brings him back to reality, where he can’t help but notice disappointedly that Cas is fully clothed. “Yes. Please teach me about this light system.” Dean would laugh at that formal preamble, but he doesn’t want to hurt Cas’ feelings, and knows that would. Besides, he’s on thin enough ice as it is since the conference.

He tries to put on a face that says ‘ _This is an academic concept we can use to assist you with socializing_ ’ rather than one that says ‘ _I still can’t stop picturing you tied up on my bed needing a safe word_ ,’ and begins. 

“Ok, so the idea of Red Light/Green Light is that it’s basically like a street light, and, there’s uh, like a spectrum of checking in, rather than just one safe word. So when you do something new you can check in, and green light means all systems go, and red means no fucking way, and yellow means I’m not sure. That’s the trickiest part, because while ‘not sure’ can mean ‘whoa back off’, it usually means ‘I need a time out, but then let’s push this a bit further. But no promises, keep checking.’ Make sense?”

Cas has on his school face, it’s like he’s taking notes in his mind, and Dean can almost see him searing the information into his memory. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Maybe this wasn’t that good an idea.

Suddenly Cas grins. “Green light?” He answers, testing it out. Dean chuckles. He can’t help it, Cas is so proud of himself, and it’s amazing seeing him so happy. The stress he carries around from school melts off his face and he’s a completely different person. Dean tries valiantly to ignore his body’s response to hearing Cas say the words ‘green light,’ but not to any great success. He’s still having trouble making his brain work under these circumstances.

“Awesome. Ok. So you clearly get it. Almost like you learn for a living, or something.” He grins at his best friend, appreciating that for a moment at least they’re back to their old selves.

Cas smirks at him. “Or something.” Oh god. Dean can barely concentrate under that smirk. Luckily Cas continues, “I do not believe, however, that this will be a sufficiently subtle form of communication.” It’s actually kind cute how Cas speaks so formally cause he’s always thinking in academic or Latin or Greek and damn he’s smart and _holy shit Winchester lock this the fuck down._

“Good point. Hmmm.” Dean considers the dilemma, happy to focus on something that doesn’t make him blush, something he can try to solve. And then he gets it. “Colours! Ha!” Cas’ confused face urges him on. “Instead of saying ‘Cas, yellow light’ I can just work in something yellow to our conversation.” It’s fairly sneaky, and he’s pretty proud of himself, so he beams at Cas, nods up in triumph, and takes a swig of his beer.

“So, if I am making someone uncomfortable you might express your views on the use of canaries in mining?” Ok, so not a complete triumph. Dean takes a swig then shakes his head, thinking of how to pull this off.

“No, I think I’d go for something a bit less heavy-handed. Like,” he casts his gaze around, and the specials board catches his eye. “Like this,” he finishes as the waitress comes by again.

“Hey sweetheart, I see you have lemon-meringue pie on special today. We’ll have a slice each, thanks.” Then looks at Cas pointedly. Cas smiles at the waitress, and as she walks away the two of them burst into giggles. Grown-ass men giggling. Oh man, Dean’s got it bad.

“Alright, I believe I understand. If you mention something that is green, red, or yellow, and then make eye contact with me, I’ll interpret that as the code, yes?”

Dean can’t stop making eye contact with Cas, all he wants to do for pretty much ever is stare into those pools of azure darkness, but he’s determined to play it cool and not be quite that obvious. “Yep, that’s the plan,” he answers, a little too casually, and takes a sip of his beer. _Nice going, Winchester, that was totally convincing. If Cas were an idiot, which guess what, you know damn well he ain’t._

“Speaking on plans, are we still on for Friday? Or would you rather not?” Cas looks at him, eyes boring into him, and Dean feels his mind go completely blank.

“What?” _Friday? What the hell is happening Friday? Friday is tomorrow! Oh god, we’re hanging out again tomorrow?_ Dean can’t decide if he wants to spend every minute of every day with Cas, or never see him again. It’s a toss-up.

“At the conference. You got upset that I hadn’t seen that movie, with the bar, wanted to make me watch it. I guess you were pretty drunk and don’t remember. Nevermind.” Cas takes a swig of beer looking like Dean just kicked him in the gut. Ok nope, this is definitely worse than never seeing him again, that’s for sure.

“No! I still want to!” _Whoa, way to be smooth Dean. Could you be any more eager?_ “I mean. _The_ _Big Lebowski_ , right? That still works for me. Want to come over with Sam after school, and we can order a pizza?” Please god make that seem chill and please make it fix whatever he did to Cas. The tentative smile Dean sees forming is a promising start.

“Sure. Do you need me to rent it, or…?” Dean laughs for the first time in what feels like about a decade. Then he remembers he was just fretting, and before that giggling. _Jesus, is this what it’s going to be like from now on?_ There’s no way he can handle this goddamn rollercoaster of emotions.

“No, dude, it’s the future; you don’t rent movies anymore. Anyway, I own it. I’ll grab beer on my way home from work and meet you guys there.”

“Alright, I look forward to it.” Cas is properly smiling again, so Dean breathes a little more easily. This is fucking exhausting. He can’t tell Cas, but he really doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. Why did that fuck did he ever let that stupid goddamn song come on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whomp whommmp. I kinda love the idea of them doing D/s play in public, and making it nerdier just seemed like the answer. I also have a serious problem with the way Cas’ smirk affects Dean and needed it to be in here.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MOVIE NIGHT. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: recollections of violence and physical abuse.

Friday evening comes in the blink of an eye and Dean is even more flustered than he was at the bar. Cas is coming here, to his house, and will learn more about him here than he does in their meetings, and he already knows a hell of a lot about Dean. He was prepared for it at Christmas because it was a party. There were a bunch of people here and he had cleaned the place up, prepped a ton of snacks, and was pretty confident he could impress him. Plus, at Christmas, Dean wasn’t insanely terrified about _needing_ to impress Cas the way he is now. _Goddamnit._ He’s tearing around trying to get last minute things done, fretting about dusting the mantel AGAIN, and thanking someone up there for the millionth time that Sam was out with Jess today and at least he didn’t have to put up with that scrutiny. He texted Cas earlier to let him know it’d be just them that evening, and sent him is address.

Cas arrives ten minutes early, and Dean notices him through the window reading a book. Confused, he pulls out his phone.

_> >Dude, you can come in you know…_  
  
<<I’m early, I didn’t want to be a bother.  
  
>>For a smart guy you’re sometimes kinda dumb. Get in here.

He goes to open the door and gets there just as Cas is walking up the path. “Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas. You alright?” He finds himself smiling reflexively; he just seems to do that now when Cas is around.

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry to impose like this.” Cas walks over the threshold and is taking off his trench and a scarf while Dean closes the door behind him and sighs exasperatedly.

“Not an imposition Cas, I kinda figured you might be early. Teacher and organized student and all that. It’s fine, promise.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously and half gestures around the room. “So, um, ya. This is it. Welcome, and uh, make yourself at home.” He looks around a bit frantically, trying to double check that everything’s in its place and clean and just right, and he actually doesn’t notice Cas approaching until he’s touching his shoulder gently.

“Dean, please take a deep breath. You have a lovely home. I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you this evening all week and I wouldn’t care where you lived. You happen to live in a nice place, but I really wouldn’t care if you didn’t. I’ve been living in residences and bachelor apartments for the better part of a decade, I can assure you my domestic standards are pretty low.”

Dean looks at Cas a bit frantically, breathing heavily and trying to find the words to express just why having a tidy, clean, and safe home mattered so much, but he just can’t. He can’t. And from the way Cas is looking at him reassuringly he realises he doesn’t have to. Cas is holding his shoulder and looking at him the same way he had looked at Cas at the conference, trying to transfer that strength to him when he needed it. For once in his life Dean backs down and borrows that strength, taking a deep breath before nodding and gesturing around again.

“Cool, so um, I’m just gonna go grab some beers and the pizza menu and we can figure out what to order.” He rushes out of the room to catch his breath and compose himself. _Goddamnit Winchester, get it together. You can do this._ He runs a hand through his hair trying to scrub the weakness off, and after a quick shake of the head he comes back out, beers and menu in tow.

Thankfully Cas pretends nothing had happened, and is standing near one end of the couch looking at some old photos. As Dean approaches he points to them. “I have trouble believing Sam was ever that short.”

Dean nearly snorts, but just catches himself. “Dude, you’re telling me. Gotta admit, it was a sad day when that kid outgrew me.” He curses his phrasing, hoping Cas doesn’t read into it, and goes to sit down. Cas, however, doesn’t seem finished.

“You two have always been very close, haven’t you?” Cas has picked up a photo of the two of them as kids, Dean’s probably 11 and Sammy’s about 7. Bobby took this one time when they were visiting him Ellen, and they’re leaning up against Bobby’s old trailer. Dean’s got an arm casually slung around Sammy’s shoulders and the kid is grinning like a doofus through his bowl cut. Dean would never say it out loud but this is his favourite picture of the two of them. He takes it carefully from Cas, looks at it with fondness, and puts it back.

“Had to be.” He isn’t going to go further than that, not tonight, and he prays Cas will just leave it alone. For the moment he does.

“There are an awful lot of photos of Sam here, Dean. Aren’t there pictures of younger you?” Cas looks at him questioningly, and Dean gets the impression that he really could tell Cas everything, that he might even stick around till the end. But Dean knows that he’d leave once he did know everything; no one who knew the truth would ever be able to look Dean in the eyes again, he wouldn’t deserve it. So he resists the temptation to tell Cas the truth and laughs it off.

“Well I had to let the kid have some confidence, runt that he was. I mean, how would you feel if this adorable mug was always overshadowing you. Really, it was the only decent move I had as a big brother.” He chuckles trying to cover the pain as he sits down on the couch and shoves a menu at Cas. “I’ll eat anything, so just pick whichever you want.” 

Cas picks up on the end of that conversation, and accepts the menu and a beer gratefully after sitting down at the other end of the couch. They end up deciding on a cheeseburger type pizza because Cas has craving for red meat and Dean’s never one to say no to a cheeseburger, even if it is on a pizza. He throws on the movie and settles back to share this Coen brothers’ masterpiece with the biggest nerd he knows.

At the start Cas seems a bit underwhelmed by the thing, seriously disappointing Dean. He doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to the movie and is staring just off to side of the tv. Dean assumes he’s just not enjoying it, which bums him out, but he’s not going to complain if Cas isn’t. When the thugs break into The Dude’s apartment he perks up though, watching intently. Dean notices but doesn’t say anything, just grateful Cas is finally appreciating it. He’s surprised when Cas starts talking a minute later and shatters any illusion that the film has actually become his main focus.

“Have I ever told you about my big brother Dean?” Not really sure what’s going on, Dean just shakes his head slowly. Maybe the photos jogged his memory? Cas sighs then continues. “He was… well frankly he was a nasty piece of work. One of those creeps who’s convinced they’re doing what’s best for everyone else, and can’t begin to fathom that they may not be liked, or appreciated, or welcome. The kind of guy who holds you underwater to teach you to hold your breath.” Cas pauses, shaking his head so slightly Dean’s not sure he really saw it. Given what’s going on onscreen Dean’s getting a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he just sits there and lets Cas continue.

“Anyway,” he sighs, “one time in high school, senior year, I was on my way home and I heard Luke taunting this kid in the parking lot. He was going to the local university and the campus was nearby, so he often walked me home after school. As I came around the corner I saw him pushing this terrified boy around, teasing him, scrubbing his head with his knuckles, just general harassment. Kid was pimply, scrawny, and way, way out his element. I told Luke to cut it out and let him go, at which point he punched the kid right in the nose. ‘I’m just helping Cassie-baby,’ he said. ‘Just trying to toughen up this poor kid so he can face reality. He’ll get eaten alive like this’.” Cas is staring at the coffee table in front of them, oblivious to the loss of the rug that really tied a room together. 

“I told him again to stop, and he threw the kid to the ground and started kicking him in the gut. I ran up and grabbed his shoulder, and shouted the first thing that came to mind. I can’t remember exactly what that was, actually, but I think it was some stupid name. I don’t know, I was just seeing red. He swung around and belted me right across the jaw, sent me staggering back.” He paused, clearly lost in the memory. “I don’t even remember what happened next, not exactly. I know that when I got home I had to throw out everything I had been wearing that day because of the bloodstains, and that it hurt to breathe for a few weeks; I believe I may have broken a few ribs, I’ll never know for sure though. That night he told my parents we had been mugged and he had managed to fight them off to save me. I didn’t bother correcting him. We… we haven’t really spoken since.” Cas trails off, letting this confession hang in the air.

“Cas, man, holy shit. You, you ok? Want me to turn the movie off?” Dean’s reaching for the remote before he even finishes the question.

“No Dean, I apologize, you wanted me to see this movie and I would like to. Something about that scene, probably the swirly, just made me remember that. I shouldn’t have brought that up, I’m so sorry. I’m fine, I swear, let’s please just forget about it and carry on?” He’s clearly posturing but Dean really wants to let him get away with it.

“Sure?” He holds the remote up, making it clear he’s 100% ready to put Cas before The Dude, even if it is one of his favourites.

“Sure,” he answers, smiling weakly through the worry lines. Slowly the smile extends to his eyes though, and he adds “besides, I need to find out who Jackie Treehorn is.” And then they both chuckle slightly, tension eased, still clearly aware of the precarious return to normalcy but both eager to embrace it. Dean is so grateful that Cas trusts him enough to tell him a thing like that. As he half-watches the movie he realises that it’s not trust that’s stopping him from opening up to the man beside him. He trusts Cas, he just also knows that no one as good as that could ever forgive what Dean’s done, and god help him he’s too scared to lose Cas.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when they get to Sam Elliot’s infamous line and Cas looks at him and gestures to the television. “So that’s your cowboy then, Dean?”

Maybe it shouldn’t make him blush. Maybe it shouldn’t cause him to start stammering that Sam Elliot isn’t _his_ cowboy and that hell, Sam Elliot is basically THE cowboy, the quintessential cowboy, and that if he’s able to appreciate that well that just means Dean can appreciate good casting is all. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it sure as hell does. Cas chuckles as Dean keeps spouting off about iconic screen legends and timeless performances and just lets Dean wear himself out. At his look of petulant defeat Cas actually panders to him enough to say “Cheer up Dean, sometimes you eat the bar…” To this Dean actually throws a pillow right at him, Cas laughing his face off the whole time. He’s grateful that things have calmed down, and once the pizza arrives they fall into a really confortable groove of quietly eating, drinking, watching the movie and exchanging the occasional chuckle or smile. 

It’s interesting because they both seem to enjoy different parts. Dean laughs pretty much any time Walter yells at Donny (he recognizes way too much of a fraternal bond there), whereas Cas seems to like the strange, off the cuff lines the most. Dean can’t believe it when Cas almost chokes on his beer over The Dude’s remark that nihilism “must be exhausting,” and then he launches into a whole tirade about intersectional feminism after Maude Lebowski repeats “vagina” over and over. The man appreciats solid humour, you have to give him that.

As the movie continues Dean relaxes a bit more and rather than spending all night freaking out about earlier, or about his crush, he’s just thankful for that moment of intimacy with Cas. He is so relieved that despite whatever was going on between them after he fucked up at the conference at least he can still be there for Cas as a friend. He’s also appreciating more and more how this was an awesome first movie date for them – _movie NIGHT Dean, goddamnit. This is so not a date._ There were jokes about philosophical theories, but also about dirty underwear. About political correctness and about pedophiles. About minorities and feminism, and about low-budget crappy porn. Honestly, now that he’s thinking about it, there kind of isn’t anything this movie doesn’t have.

He decides he should at least try to reciprocate in some way to Cas’ confession. The guy’s just bared his soul and Dean can’t even talk to him about Sammy. He takes a deep breath and let’s out a secret he’s never told anyone. It’s not an important or consequential secret, but it is a confession nonetheless. “I always thought it’d be kinda cool to be a private detective, y’know?" 

Cas raises his eyebrows to indicate that he does not, in fact, know, so Dean continues. “Like, travel around on someone’s dime, solve strange mysteries, maybe even go under cover and need costumes and shit? It just, it always seemed like an interesting life. If you’ve gotta be on the road that’s the way to do it.” He blushes a bit, embarrassed at having said so much. Would Cas think he was a weirdo? _Was_ he a weirdo? 

Just before this fiery train of thought can derail further Cas nods appreciatively, as if examining a piece of art. “Know what Dean? I think you would have been very well suited to that. You have an uncanny ability to connect seemingly disparate subjects, as you’ve proven in our conversations about what I do. You’re extremely observant, as you demonstrated last night at the bar, and you are certainly charming enough to wile information out of probably any warm-blooded body.” He finishes a bit breathless, blushing, but Dean chalks it up to the beers. 

“Ya, well, whatever man. You’re just a good teacher.” Dean responds hastily, eager to end the flow of praise from Cas’ lips that he was finding himself addicted to. He hates stemming it, wishes he could be there all night soaking up that praise, basking in it. He loves hearing Cas say nice things about him, but let’s be honest, this is in no way helping him keep this damn crush under control, and he worries that if he lets Cas keep talking he’d be too weak to maintain his platonic veneer.

“I’m just saying Dean, don’t sell yourself short.” Cas seems slightly frustrated with Dean’s behaviour, but clearly knows better than to get into it too much right then.

Dean takes the out and chuckles, answering blithely with both hands raised. “The Dude abides, man. The Dude abides.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I recently did a rewatch of The Big Lebowski and was kind of floored to notice [THIS ](http://assets.nydailynews.com/polopoly_fs/1.98584.1318375771!/img/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/gallery_1200/gal-big-l-mark-pellegrino-jpg.jpg). I just wanted to add in a flippant one-liner about the similarity, but when I sat down to write it this horrible flashback happened instead. Sorry?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussing Latin over beers becomes much more risqué than anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal gratitude to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic! Thank you doll!!!!

“So, let me get this straight. You can read that?” He gestures to the book Cas was reading when Dean arrived, breathless and a little late, apologizing for a customer that kept him late at the shop. They missed drinks Tuesday, which Dean still can’t decide if he’s grateful for or miserable about, and it’s the first time he’s seen Cas since the movie Friday.

“Yes.” Cas responds like he hasn’t just blown Dean’s mind. Like Cas isn’t some incredible being Dean still can’t comprehend.

“Cas, that’s in Latin. You’re telling me you can read that as if it were English?” Dean’s shaking his head. That’s insane. Who is this guy anyway?

“Yes, Dean. Did you really think I read all that oratory in English? You need to use the original texts to perceive the subtleties that are otherwise lost in translation. This is what I spend a large part of my day doing, reading these speeches. _In Latin_.” Cas answers him calmly, emphasizing the last two words. Dean still can scarcely believe anyone can be that big a nerd, even someone who acted out oratory gesticu-whatever on stage. 

“Ok, so tell me about it.” Cas raises an eyebrow doubtfully. “What, I read. Not, like, in Latin, granted, but come on. What’s that?” He points at the book again, and Cas concedes, adopting his teacher persona.

“This is a collection of speeches by Cicero, who is one of the most famous orators of Rome and the foundation for most of my dissertation. He was a lawyer and statesmen during the Fall of the Republic. When you arrived I was reading about the prosecution of a young man, and Cicero’s tact was to argue that it was not his fault, that he was merely a victim of the raging hormones of youth.”

Dean snorts. “Is that a technical legal term? Cause I’m pretty sure you can still get assholes off for being dicks with that excuse, as long as Daddy pays enough.” Dean’s no saint, but there are lines you don’t cross, and he hates hearing about guys getting away with shit who clearly shouldn’t be allowed out in public.

“Ad hominem attacks were a completely valid form of the Roman legal system.” Cas is glaring a little, but Dean snorts again, chuckling at how formal their talk is.

“It’s just me Cas, you’re not teaching a course. Want some lemonade?”

Cas stares at Dean, looking past his expression, past his smile and his green eyes, through them and into Dean. At first he’s nervous he upset him, even though Cas did agree to this. But then the moment passes, Cas backs down, and simply states “I’m sorry I am making you uncomfortable.”

Dean wants to reach out and take Cas’ hand, reassure him through his touch, but he can’t, so he tries to express it in words. “I’m not uncomfortable, but you’re talking like it’s a job interview, not two friends having dinner. You told me this would be ok, which is why I said something, but if it upsets you I won’t do it again, ok?” He hopes Cas understands all he’s not saying, all he wishes he could tell him. He just can’t make his mouth reveal those things. He can’t. 

Cas just nods, swallows once, and then looks Dean square in the eyes. “I would like to keep doing this Dean. I, I want to do this. It’s just, awkward for me, sometimes, to acknowledge my failings.” He finishes the confession looking into Dean’s eyes, but then drops them in shame, staring at his beer.

“Cas, nobody said anything about failings. No one’s 100% in every subject all of the time. You are freakishly smart, and nice, and we both know you have killer shoulders. It’s ok to be getting a B+ in conversation.” Cas starts to soften a bit, at which point Dean dares to lighten the mood. “Hell, I never got a B+ in anything, so you’re still the smartest guy at the table,” Cas looks hurt, like Dean just made things worse, which only confuses him more.

“Dean, don’t shoot yourself down like that; you are incredibly clever. The things you help me understand, the insight you bring to my research… I’d be lost without you.” Cas dips his head down again, suddenly looking embarrassed. _Whoa_. For the first time Dean dares to think that maybe, just maybe, he misunderstood the fight over Van Halen. But now’s not the time for that. _Besides, even if something happened, what if it…What if… oh god, if Sammy…_ He stops himself, controlling his thoughts and forcing his breathing to slow, calming himself. Dean briefly wonders if Cas noticed, but thankfully it doesn’t seem like it. He sees the book and remembers that he asked about it a lifetime ago.

“Alright, you want my insight? To put my brilliant classical brain to work? Hit me, whatcha got?” Nodding at the book, Dean gives Cas an opening to be in his element and also change the topic, which Cas seems to gratefully seize. He picks it back up, takes a deep breath, and continues.

“Well, right. Raging hormones of youth, condemning one man for the lifestyle of the many, ah, here’s where I was.” He clears his throat, looks at Dean to see if he really wants him to continue, and when Dean nods to confirm that he does, he begins, pausing slightly between clauses as he decides the best way to form the English out loud.

“‘I have seen and heard of many in the city who have not only tasted this kind of life with the very edge of their lips, and have touched it with just the tips their fingers, but have in fact given themselves over completely to the desires of youth, to emerge at some point to give themselves to just endeavours, having become the most mature and respected gentlemen.’”

Cas finishes and looks at Dean, waiting to hear his thoughts, or his teasing, or whatever may be in store. Unfortunately Dean’s mind is suddenly filled with thoughts of _exactly_ what it would be like to give himself completely to his desires, to feel that mouth with the edges of his own lips, and to feel Cas’ fingertips over his body. He imagines running his own fingertips down Cas’ back, sliding them over those incredible hips, wrapping his fingers around him, all the while kissing his collarbone, his chest, his nipples, leaving little bite marks and hickies and traces of his attention left manifest on his body. But he doesn’t say any of that, he can’t. _Think, brain, think!_

“It’s funnier in Latin.” Cas says a little apologetically, mistaking Dean’s silence for condemnation. Dean’s never seen someone awkwardly shuffle while sitting down, but somehow Cas pulls it off, and it’s enough to reign in his thoughts.

“Uh, um.” He coughs a little, trying to buy some time. “So, does that work? Does he get off?” Cough more, _ohgodwhatiswrongwithme?_ Cough. “I mean, does the defense work, does it get this guy off?” Ugh. _Son of a bitch_.

“Yes, Cicero was successful. Are you alright?” Cas looks seriously concerned, though his eyes are smiling, which Dean can’t understand. He takes a huge sip of water to buy himself some time, tries to think of something clever to justify his behaviour.

“Ya, thanks, just needed a drink.” That’s what his mouth says, which is only a slight deviation from what is brain is saying, namely _Oh god please let me explore every inch of you with my lips and fingertips._

Cas explains more about Roman courts while Dean nods and eats his cheeseburger, not trusting himself to contribute much to conversation after that. He somehow manages to draw out his meal long enough that he runs out of food only when Cas finishes his last beer, and they can part ways. As he’s driving home that night he curses himself for being the least smooth human being on the planet. He used to be able to pick up chicks with a slick line and well-timed wink, and now he’s falling apart over _goddamn Latin_. This is not good. Not good at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed this is from an actual Latin book. For those that are curious it’s Cic. _Pro Caelio_ xii. 28. I was translating this in class and my mind totally went to the gutter, so I thought it’d be fun to make Dean’s do the same. Whoops! 
> 
> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [ here ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family dinners can get real awkward, real quick, with people who know you way too well. Cas shares more of his favourite Latin with Dean, and it’s not exactly what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal gratitude to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic! Thank you doll!!!!

Sunday evening finds Sam and Dean heading over to Ellen and Bobby’s as usual, armed with a six-pack and the salad and pie they had prepared earlier that afternoon. When they get there Ellen playfully swats Sam around the head for not being in touch more, complaining that she only knows about his goings on thanks to Dean’s reporting.

“I know, Ellen, I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise. But, isn’t it nice to get to talk about me behind my back with Dean?” He winks mischievously, trying to weasel his way out of being in trouble.

“Any thing could happen behind your gigantor back, you moron, how would you even know?” Dean mutters quietly from down the hall as he approaches the kitchen. He ignores Sam’s _What?_ and keeps going, only to have Bobby smack him the second he walks into the room, fixing him with that paternal stink-eye that clearly warns him not to be such a shitty brother, at least during dinner.

Ellen’s just put the casserole in and it’ll still be a while so they grab drinks and head to the living room. Ellen chastises Sam for trying to casually grab a beer for himself and passes him a can of soda and a glare instead. Dean smiles to himself and feels calmer than he has all week, appreciating the familiarity. This is how it always goes, the playful bickering, the pushing of boundaries and calling each other on it. They always arrive earlier than anyone plans to eat so they can catch up before hand and stay involved in each other’s lives.

This worked a lot better before Dean started spending five days a week at the shop with Ellen and Bobby. They know pretty much everything about his life he’s willing to share with them, so these dinners are mostly a chance for them to catch up with Sam. Dean doesn’t mind letting his little brother be the focus of conversation though. He loves seeing Sammy get excited recounting various stories from school, and to be honest, he’s just as grateful as Bobby and Ellen to learn what’s been going on in the kid’s life. Between classes, Jessica, and Dean’s schedule, they actually don’t spend most evenings together anymore, and certainly eat together much more rarely. Dean’s saddened to realise that in less than a year so much has changed, but watching his brother he knows it was for the best.

He doesn’t mind that he’s off doing his own thing now, hell, he’s proud of the kid! Sam went from a crap situation as a kid to being this amazingly impressive successful college student, and Dean’s so fucking proud of him. Not even under torture would he ever confess how many times he’s actually considered buying a stupid “honor roll kid” bumper sticker, not that he’d ever deface his Baby, but maybe for the fridge or something. But Dean knows better. Sam is not his kid, and regardless how Dean feels about things, he knows Sam doesn’t think of him as a father. That comment Jess made months ago was just her take on stories Sam’s told, she wasn’t actually saying Sam felt that way. Dean’s a million miles away when he hears his name being barked at him from Bobby.

“I’m so sorry son, we boring you?” Dean’s startled to see all three of them staring at him expectantly. He fights the embarrassment overtaking him and tries to calm down.

“What? Sorry, just, lost in my thoughts for a second. Besides, I know what Sam’s up to, I’ve got him texting me bout Jess all the time, and Cas lets me know how he’s doing at school, so I’m covered.” He hopes his quick thinking is enough to make up for it, but from Ellen’s face he knows he just stepped in it.

“Oh you’re covered by Cas, are you?” She repeats back to him, twisting the words to a way he never meant them to sound. _Shit shit shit._ He can feel the blush staining his cheeks and betraying him, but he’s determined to play it cool.

“Come on, real mature. You know what I meant.” He snaps it back, like any of the sass he throws her way, hoping she’ll drop it. This is clearly a vain hope because Ellen seems all the more encouraged by this.

“Or are you covered by someone else, and Cas knows it?” She smirks, pulling of a satisfied smugness that reminds Dean of Sam and makes him believe more in nurture than nature if for only that evening. “Is that what’s got you so distracted at work these past few weeks, dropping wrenches and jumping any time someone calls your name?” Like a dog with a bone.

Bobby jumps in at this point, and Dean’s faint hope that it’s to redirect conversation is dashed almost immediately. “Now Ellen, lighten up. I’m sure when Dean’s ready to wax poetic about his new lady friend we’ll have to listen to him _ad nauseum_ , so let’s enjoy his taciturn ways while we can.”

Dean runs a hand over his face trying to black out what’s happening. He has a hundred things he wants to scream, and he doesn’t want them to know any of them, so he just sits there, mildly belligerent look on his face, and raises his eyebrows to acknowledge he knows they expect an answer, but that he’s not going to respond any more than that. Ellen keeps at him though.

“You should bring her by, let us meet her! Gotta make sure she’s good enough for our boy.” She and Bobby are chuckling, though Bobby is more subdued than she is. Dean’s blush has now spread down his neck and he can feel it burning into his shoulders, filling him with shame and frustration. He’s about to bark back at them but is caught off guard by Sam joining the conversation for the first time.

“Speaking of which, I was hoping I could bring Jess over next week maybe, let you guys get to know her better and all that. If mean, if that’s ok?” He looks hopeful and nervous, which Dean can’t understand because Bobby and Ellen are going to _love_ Jessica. Hell, Dean’s harder on Sam’s friends that anyone, so if he approves he _knows_ they will. Regardless, Dean appreciates that Sam butted in, even if it is about Jess, and even if for reasons he doesn’t get Sam still looks anxious about bringing her over. They liked her well enough at the Christmas party, and probably have been wanting him to bring her by since. Bobby and Ellen happily start going on about how welcome she’d be (though honestly it is mostly Ellen doing the gushing) and Sam smiles excitedly, starting to regale them all with stories of how amazing Jess is. 

Even as they move up to the table to eat dinner Sam keeps going on about Jess and school, though Dean half-notices that he doesn’t mention Latin once. It’s weird, he thought Sam would be excited to talk about Cas and nerdy languages to someone they know is into that kinda shit, but if he’s not bringing it up Dean sure as hell won’t. He appreciates the chance to not have to lie to everyone about his crush; he is so not ready to have that conversation. Hell, he might never be ready to have that conversation, so he really doesn’t mind. If Sam wants to hog the conversation more than usual and seems to grin at Dean more often than he normally does then who’s Dean to complain?

*          *          *

The following Tuesday when Dean arrives late he finds Cas already there and reading a book. Dean’s been feeling so frustrated ever since that god-awful dinner Sunday. The past two days Bobby and Ellen had tried bringing it up again, but Dean started wearing headphones while working just so he could pretend he didn’t hear them. It’s been rattling him more than he’d like to admit, and he feels wretched for bringing this crappy attitude to Cas tonight. He starts to apologize, both for his mood and his tardiness, but Cas just waves him off.

“I went ahead and ordered for you, it should be here any, ah,” And Cas trails off when the waiter returns with two bottles. Dean grabs a seat, reaches forward to wrap his hand around the cool bottle, grateful for something to hold onto, to stare at, other than the man two feet and a million miles away.

Nervous that Cas might bring up something Dean would rather avoid, he quickly casts his eyes about for a conversation topic and then gestures at Cas’ book. “What you reading this time, more court drama? Latest episode of Law and Romans?” He chuckles to himself, pleased at his attempt at wit despite the circumstances.

Cas misses the reference, but answers quickly. “Not tonight. I was reading late Republican poetry.”

“That’s the same time as all that other shit went down, right?” Dean’s learning more about Rome than he ever could have guessed he didn’t know, but it’s kind of cool, hearing it from Cas, seeing him smile when Dean understands. Like right now, when he’s beaming back at Dean, and goddamnit, tonight’s going to be hard. _Difficult. Shit_.

“Yes, basically. With the political and military arenas denied to them, elite Romans started writing poetic invective against each other.” Dean’s trying to process all those words, figure out exactly what Cas meant, but with a huge sigh, like he’s personally offended to trivialize this, Cas saves him the trouble. “It’s essentially trash talk. In verse.”

Dean laughs, and it’s easy and comfortable and if he could feel like this whenever they hung out, rather than terrified of being found out or distracted by Castiel’s stupid lips and eyes and hair and hands then maybe things could be ok. When he doesn’t think he’s about to puke it feels so… natural. Like they’re just _supposed_ to hang out.

“Ok, so, they call each other jerk and bitch, or, what? What’s the Latin for ‘bitch’ anyhow Cas?” Dean shoots him his most mischievous grin, and he can almost hear Cas growl in disapproval.

“No, Dean, that was not how they did it.” His words were those of a weary teacher dealing with a troublemaker, but his eyes have an amused glint to them, and Dean can see Cas’ lip curling up on the side in a half-smile. By now he has pretty much figured out when Dean was purposely being obtuse or when he was genuinely trying to understand, and he has begun responding appropriately to either. Dean’s convinced it’s part of Cas’ super-human teacher powers, but that makes him think of Van Halen and he finds his mind wandering again when he hears Cas calmly answer him again.

“They were more like football players.”

“Excuse me?” Dean couldn’t have heard that right. Cas definitely did not play football in high school. But then Dean realises that Cas is probably painfully aware of how obnoxious football players can be to a poor nerd who actually wants to learn Latin. Sam’s only safe cause he’s bigger than any quarterback Dean’s ever met. Dean winces briefly imagining what high school must have been like for the gentle man across from him.

“Well, rather than words like “jerk” they use similar insults to those used in hyper-masculine environments. They’d call each other girly, imply various sexual acts which would be emasculating, at least in their minds, and call each other’s girlfriends fever-ridden whores.” He relates this in a calm tone, as if he hadn’t just said the most offensive thing Dean’s ever heard fall from those lips.

“No way. There’s no way your fancy pants Masterpiece theatre dudes used the words ‘fever-ridden whores.’ I don’t buy it.” Dean’s shaking his head, challenging Cas, who promptly responds by opening the book up and placing it in front of Dean while pointing accusingly at a pair of lines that read _‘verum nescio quid febriculosi scorti diligis.’_ Uh, Cas, I don’t read Latin, that’s not exactly convincing proof.” Dean tosses the book back to the scholar, who shakes his head refusing to admit defeat.

“Alright, you want proof?” And there’s a diabolical gleam to Cas’ eyes that makes Dean a little nervous. Ok more than a little nervous. Dean’s not really sure what’s about to happen, but he has the distinct impression that Cas is about to win somehow. Cas clears his throat, holds up the book, and begins reciting.

“ _Flavius, you would want to tell your dear Catullus about your sweetheart, unless she was charmless and inelegant, indeed you would not be able to shut up about her. Truly you love someone who’s a **fever-ridden whore**._ ” He takes a moment to glare at Dean as he enunciates each of those questioned words extra clearly, which is insane considering the excessively high level of his average diction. Then he continues. “ _This is why you’re ashamed to confess. For your bed cries out that it doesn’t pass empty nights being quiet in vain. It reeks of garlands and Syrian oil, your pillows are crushed all over, and the bed trembles and shakes so much that it walks about the room creaking. Why? There is no crime, no silence. Your fucked-out loins reveal that you must be up to something foolish, therefore tell us whatever you have, good or bad; I want to sing you and your love to the skies in my charming verse_.”

As Cas finishes he calmly places the book back down, reaches for his beer, and takes a sip as if he hadn’t just read erotic poetry to Dean, out loud, in a bar. And also as if Dean’s not sitting across from him exceptionally flustered (to put it mildly). Dean hates Cas so much right now. Here he was thinking they could talk about Latin and it’d be dry and he’d be safe and everything would be fine. And then this smooth-ass educated mother fucker reads him that, that smut, and he did it all… articulate like, and now Dean can’t process anything, can’t help but think of crushing his own pillows with Castiel, of what they could do with oil, of making his bed creak and groan and thump against his wall, and he realises with a start that Cas is staring at him, waiting for him to say something. Hopefully the explicit gay porn running through his mind isn’t painfully obvious on his face.

“Whoa. Um, good poem.” Referencing randy Malcolm Reynolds doesn’t exactly fluster Cas the way he just disarmed Dean, but at least he feels slightly smug that he knows something Cas doesn’t. That’s about all he has to cling to right now, as his brain is working on overdrive trying to think of everything they could possibly do together while simultaneously trying to shut that half of his brain up and find something useful to say. Surprisingly, the first side seems to be winning somehow. Even his own brain is betraying him now, stupid brain.

Dean swallows a huge gulp as he reconciles himself to the fact that he’s going to have to accept both halves of his brain’s activity right now. “Fine, I buy it, you win. Is there actually a Latin way to say ‘fucked-out’, or are you just messing with me?”

Cas chuckles. “Dean, I wouldn’t dream about messing with you when it comes to Latin.” His smug smirk implies the exact opposite, but Dean frankly doesn’t know enough poetic invective or whatever to call him on it, so he keeps his mouth shut. Cas, however, does not.

“A single word in fact. You know, everyone thinks the ancient world is so prim and proper, and those stupid Roman movies from British prudes fifty years ago definitely encouraged that. But Romans were dirty, and diabolical, and mischievous. My cousin Balthazar, with whom you spoke over the holidays, likes to say ‘Classics aren’t classy.’” He pauses a moment, seeming to hesitate, but then looks back up and fixes Dean with the most intense look. “They were not afraid to embrace their sexuality, their dominance, or their power.”

For just a second Dean could have sworn that Cas looked into his eyes and through to his soul and saw that Dean wanted him. Could have sworn that he read it plain as day on the mechanic’s face. But the moment passes, and they both reach for their beers. As he takes a much bigger sip than usual Dean starts worrying about how on earth he’s going to be able to survive the evening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You think that’s awkward hearing that from a dude you like, imagine having to translate Catullus 6, in class, to the most erudite professor ever. A professor who insists you translate it as “fucked-out loins” and then begins describing to you that the word actually means “sexy flank, but there’s no word in English for sexy flank, unfortunately, and so loin is the best choice, academically speaking.” Imagine he says this casually, just as Balthazar asks the French word for twelve. How embarrassing that might be? Y’know, HYPOTHETICALLY. How is my life even real guys?
> 
> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie nights change a little bit and Dean can’t decide if it’s for better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal gratitude to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic! Thank you doll!!!!

Since pretty much the conference this has become their routine. Drinks Tuesdays, dinner Thursdays, and movies and beer Friday night. They didn’t officially agree on a schedule or anything, but it’s become their normal, and it’s a really, really great normal. They alternate picking the movies. One week it’ll be a classic Dean’s personally offended Cas hasn’t seen, and the next week it’ll be some old Hollywood version of Rome or Greece that Castiel _insists_ Dean needs to see, but during which Cas mostly gets drunk and yells out the historical inaccuracies or calls the British actors any one of several colourful terms Dean can only assume Cas learned from his Latin poetry. Eventually they realise their respective “to watch” lists are so long the need to double up, and suddenly Cas starts coming over to watch a movie Saturday night too. Dean knows he’s in too deep, he knows this isn’t making it better, but he can’t help himself. God help him, he just wants Cas around all the time.

One Friday night they’re on the couch at Dean’s, watching a Marvel movie (Cas somehow hasn’t seen any of them), just hanging out, when Dean can’t help but notice. Cas keeps tilting his head from side to side during the movie, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, despite the fact that even Dean can hear what sounds like gravel crunching underneath his skin each time. It doesn’t help that when he isn’t doing that, he’s running his strong hands down the side of his neck, squeezing the front of his shoulders almost subconsciously, and Dean can’t stop himself. He’s wondering what it would feel like to have those strong hands run down his skin, to feel his own hands on Cas, to kiss his neck, flick his tongue behind his ear, slide his fingers all over his chest. _Ugh, this crush is getting so very, very out of hand_.

“Dude, what’s up?” Dean asks, somehow achieving a casual tone while nodding towards Cas’ shoulders. They’re sitting at opposite ends of the couch with the place to themselves; Sam’s at Jessica’s again. Even though he’s there almost all the time now, Dean’s still not used to it. He knows Sam’ll probably be getting in late tonight, or technically early tomorrow, but that’s not for hours yet. Sam seems to have gotten into the habit of spending every Friday at her place, and most Saturdays too. While Dean wouldn’t exactly know what to do if he were hanging out with Sam and Cas at the same time, he does kind of hate how often Sam’s busy lately. Cas seems as lost in his thoughts as Dean is when he realises he’s being spoken to.

“What? Oh. Nothing, I’m just a little sore. Sitting at a desk for 60-80 hours a week apparently works quite the number on your neck.” He tilts his head again and Jesus, Dean can _hear_ the muscles in Cas’ shoulders grinding against each other and it makes his stomach churn.

“Do you want help with that man?” Dean offers, then instantly regrets it. Instantly wishes he could take the words back; that he could undo this moment of weakness, of exposing what was truly running through his mind. Part of him wants to have his hands on Cas, another part was just trying to be nice, but now most of him is screaming at himself for being so reckless. All he can do now is try to work some damage-control mojo, so he adds “Y’know, if that wouldn’t be weird.” _Definitely smooth, way to go, jerk_.

“That would actually be lovely,” Cas answers exhaling heavily with a soft smile. Any fears he might have about Cas’ reaction vanish, and Dean thinks this might be no big deal, he’ll just help his friend out. His friend who he just pictured making out with. His friend who he can’t stop thinking about. But it’s not big deal, he’s just being nice. Right?

Cas slides onto the floor and positions himself in front of Dean, who sits up and places his feet on the ground to either side of Cas. As he puts his hands on Cas’ shoulders he feels a shock, deep down to his core, and it’s like the first time he ever held hands with a girl back in grammar school. Worried he might seem too close, or that Cas felt it too, he again checks, “You still good?” 

“Green light Dean,” Cas calmly answers, no big deal. And oh GOD the things this makes Dean think of, but he just starts massaging Cas’ shoulders, working the knots with his thumbs, and basking in the sighs of release that escape from Cas’ mouth. “How are your hands even this strong?” Cas asks him, leaning into the touch.

Dean preens with pride, and answers with more sass than he intended “Some of us actually work for a living, y’know? Get our hands dirty.” He half expects Cas to get offended, but he just huffs and ignores the jibe while sinking further back against Dean, letting him work the tension out of his body.

Dean keeps rubbing, and since he does use his hands all day he actually manages to keep going for quite some time. The first time he hears Cas gasp he almost jumps out of his skin. It catches him so off guard, and instantly he feels himself blushing, grateful that Cas is facing away from him. After confirming he’s not squeezing too hard, Dean keeps going. Those gasps come more frequently when Dean works a particularly bad area, and Dean’s not entirely sure what makes him torture himself by focusing on those, but he’s doing everything he can to elicit those sounds from Cas mouth. While it is not sexual, at least for Cas, Dean is still using his hands to make Cas’ breath hitch, and it is definitely turning him on.

His fingers are working on their own now, just hunting out knots on autopilot and working through them while he’s watching the movie. He finds a particularly bad one right in the crook where Cas’ neck meets his right shoulder, and as he starts in on this one Cas moans. It’s low and rough and sends Dean into a seething pile of uselessness. It takes ever inch of willpower to keep moving his fingers so as not to arouse suspicion. This would be fine, except that this encourages even more devilishly amazing sounds which wreck him even more. _Son of a bitch this is the longest movie ever_. It feels like it’s been on for hours already. He feels like he has always been here, Cas leaning against him, his hands rubbing his shoulders, coaxing those precious noises out of him. Dean zones out, enjoying it, and by the time the credits finally start rolling he is horrified to discover he’s hard. Awkwardly hard, and there’s no way he’ll be able to hide it.

Cas moves to get up, and Dean shouts a strangled “Wait!” before the other man can complete the action. How the everlasting fuck is this happening, it’s like he’s 13 again or something.

“Hmmm?” Cas groans confused, not helping the situation one little bit.

_Why wait? You need an excuse, Dean, and now! Come on_. “It’s a Marvel Film!” He almost shouts it when he realises. _Whew! Ok, now seem less eager_. “They, uh, they always have something after the credits. A little teaser. You basically have to watch.” He can see Cas preparing to dismiss this, so he blurts out “It’s like a rule.” And Cas relaxes again against the couch, and Dean slows his fingers until they’re just tracing Cas’ shoulders, trying to calm himself and avoid any more…sounds that could distract him.

Thankfully he’s mostly able to conceal the, uh, situation, by the time the teaser has played. “Well, thank you for that Dean, I hope you enjoyed the evening. I know I did. That was very relaxing, and just what I needed. Thank you for your help.” He tilts his head a little side to side, smiling at how he can do this so easily now.

“Ya, uh, you too. Night man!” And he walks Cas out, says goodnight again, and then closes the door, leaning against it. Oh god this is insane. He can’t keep doing this, he can’t. He’ll explode if he’s wound this tightly around Cas every time. Hell, he might even explode tonight. He’s not painfully hard anymore, but he can still tell that he’s half-hard and it wouldn’t take much.

Actually…Maybe that would help. Dean makes the decision quickly and begins to act. He locks up and turns off the lights before heading to his room and making sure he’s locked his door. Sam shouldn’t be coming home anytime soon but no point risking it. He takes two steps forward, spins, and collapses backwards on the bed, left hand already idly running up and down his upper leg while he drags his right through his hair, trying to figure out what he’s going to do about this.

He starts to think he’ll do nothing, but then he remembers when Cas moaned earlier, and suddenly he’s rock-hard again, and Dean can’t believe he’s this turned on before even really starting. _Shit, this is getting intense_. If just the thought of Cas moaning…

And then he’s scrambling at his belt and tearing off his jeans because suddenly it’s urgent and reckless and he can’t not be touching himself. He remembers how Cas’ shoulders felt under his touch and he hears himself exhale, relaxing into the moment. He imagines what it would be like to kiss those shoulders, to be sitting behind Cas on a bed, and lean forward and run his hands down those arms as he kisses the back of his neck, nipping here and there, legs kneeling on either side of that perfectly chiselled back.

He’s slowly pumping himself, and though lube lazily occurs to him he’s already too into it and can feel pre-cum starting to bead at his tip anyway. He slides his hand up and down slowly, twisting, making sure to graze the top each stroke. It’s his turn to moan as he continues, imagining the feel of sliding his fingers back up Castiel’s back, caressing his sides, and sliding closer to him. Dean squeezes his eyes shut as he feels his hand become slicker, feels the familiar sensation that he’s getting close. He imagines Cas turning and pushing into him, kissing him, gently at first, with just the faintest of touches, then escalating, his tongue probing into his mouth. Cas running his hands along Dean’s chest, pulling him closer, then lowering them both down on to the bed and coming to rest over top of him. Dean imagines feeling the weight of Cas on top of him, and his breaths get shorter, his hand moves more quickly, and his left hand is rubbing every inch of skin Dean can find under his shirt, mimicking the hands he wishes were exploring him right now.

He can feel the pooling in his gut, knows he’s getting close, and he curses himself for being so turned on he hasn’t even gotten to fantasizing about the sex yet and he’s already about to blow. A quick twist brings his thoughts back instantly, and as he’s lying on the bed, right hand pulling as quickly as he can, he slides his left under to cup his balls. He’s gasping now, so close, and he imagines what it would be like to feel Castiel slide down his chest, look him right in the eye, and then take him in his mouth. Just the thought of Cas’ warm, wet mouth closing over his –

He tries to keep stroking, gently, guiding himself through the orgasm, but he’s shaking and gasping and can barely breathe. Soon he has to give up and just lay there spread eagle, trembling through the last of it. Sweat and cum start to cool on his skin as he tries to regain his composure, as he tries to regain control of his life.

This is getting so complicated, but basking in the afterglow, Dean’s not really sure he cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact? Despite having posted a bunch of smut before now, this chapter is actually the first naughty thing I ever wrote!
> 
> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's mask starts to slip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone commenting along the way, you're making this amazing for me and I love each of you so much. Thank you.
> 
> Also mega huge thank yous to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for finishing her beta-ing of this fic! Thank you doll!!!! Guys I now have every chapter ready, and do you know what that means? MORE UPDATES! Maybe it's your enthusiasm for the story getting to me, but I'm going to start posting Tuesdays too (wink wink). So it'll be Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, just like the boys, from now on. This is particularly good timing cause we're getting to the bits I'd hate to make you wait on for tooooo long; I mean, I'm a bit mean, but I'm not straight up cruel. 
> 
> Alright, ready? Let's do this!

The next morning Dean feels pretty good, considering. He thinks about that for a second: considering what? That yesterday was an evening where he basically had a boner the entire time he was rubbing his best friend’s shoulders but it’s totally not weird? And then the things he had imagined…

Whatever, he had some fun, and it’s Sunday morning, which means breakfast with Sam, so he flips on the radio and starts singing along while making coffee. If Dean doesn’t wake Sam up they’ll be eating breakfast at 2pm, so he considers it totally fair. It is 11:00am, after all. He heard the kid come back around 3am, and he’s not even going to call him on being out so late since he knows it would have been pretty damn awkward had he come home much sooner. REO Speedwagon comes on and Dean’s signing along full volume when Sam finally shows his very tousled head. “ _I tell myself that I can't hold out forever, I said there is no reason for my fear_.”

“Morning sunshine.” Dean beams and takes another sip of his coffee, while Sam bangs the cupboard open looking for a mug. Dean just keeps singing “ _My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you, I've been running round in circles in my mind_.”

“Ugh. Dean, what are you doing? We’ve talked about this. You’re not my mother, you don’t get to wake me up on the weekend.” Sam looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, which is insane, cause he sleeps for nearly ten hours a night even during midterms.

“Ya, well, as long as you schedule classes and study sessions that mean I don’t get dinner with you regularly I’m allowed to wake you up whenever I want so you can eat bacon with me.” Dean returns to his cooking and singing. “ _And I can't fight this feeling anymore, I've forgotten what I started fighting for_.”

Sam’s shaking his head muttering “No Dean, you don’t, actually.” When he seems to suddenly realize something and looks up at Dean. “Wait, why are you singing this song?”

Dean’s confused. The hell kinda question is that? “Uh, it’s on the radio and I’m in a good mood? Reason enough?” Sam is staring at him, and Dean finally registers what song it is but refuses, flat out, to replay that scene again, but this time with an audience of Sam instead.

“What? Jo kept playing it over Christmas, and maybe it’s not as bad as I thought.” Dean can completely pretend he doesn’t have a clue what Sam means, cause he really doesn’t know for sure if that even _is_ what Sam means, but he sure as hell is not going to find out today. “Whatever, man, help me make breakfast.”

Sam stares at him a minute more, then shakes his head and reaches for the frying pan. “Jerk.” Dean grabs the eggs and passes them to Sam.

“Bitch.” And Dean’s grinning ear to ear, drinking coffee and knowing he’s about to get bacon.

*          *          *

The next week at work drags by, and both Ellen and Bobby call him on it. Mostly just snide remarks, but by Friday Dean worries they might know more than they’re letting on. It’s been weeks and they’re getting more and more observant. It’s not like he’s trying to lie to them about anything, he just doesn’t know how to talk about this stuff. For a moment he wishes he could ask his mom what he should do, but that just makes everything worse and then he’s banging wrenches around which leads him to inevitably getting called out. 

“Dean! What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bobby looks furious and deeply concerned at the same time, and Dean’s not sure how that’s possible. He just shakes his head dismissively, but Bobby won’t let it go. “Look son, I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re coming over tomorrow afternoon, and you’re going to tell me. In the meantime, smarten up and do your damn job.”

He glares at Dean, and he knows that voice brooks no argument. After glaring back defiantly for a second just so Bobby doesn’t think he’s won that easily, Dean nods and agrees.

“Alright then!” is the only answer Bobby gives, and just like that he turns and leaves Dean wondering what the hell he’s going to say tomorrow.

*          *          *

That night when Cas comes over to watch a movie he doesn’t even sit on the couch, just sits on the floor in front of Dean. And Dean starts massaging his shoulders without really thinking out about it, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, because it actually feels like it is. He’s still not sure how he can be the most nervous he has ever been in his entire life while simultaneously being comfortable with the easiest arrangement he can imagine. It makes no sense, and messes with his head. He stops after an hour, when his fingers tire, but Cas stays there, leaning back into Dean. Dean only hesitates for a second before he decides to keep his hands on Cas’ shoulders, even though he’s not massaging anymore. He thinks about moving them, but knows Cas would just red-light him if he didn’t want them there, so they linger.

Sitting there, Dean slowly starts to appreciate Cas’ attraction to ordered social interaction and how freeing it can be to know exactly what the rules are. Still, he has his own rules. Knows there are lines he can’t cross. He sees Cas off and then retires to his room, less turned on than last week, but still frustrated, still unsure what he’s going to do. He doesn’t fall asleep for hours, and when sleep finally takes him it’s restless and unfulfilling.

Saturday Dean wakes up late feeling exhausted and angry. Sam’s spent the night at Jessica’s and won’t be back until early afternoon, if that. He gets up and gets ready slowly, drawing every action out, as if this will somehow prohibit his having to face the situation with Bobby. He fixes himself some cereal and grimaces at how much less satisfactory it is than a proper weekend breakfast. But feeling as completely drained as he does he doesn’t have the heart to cook that today for just himself.

Is that how it feels, bottling crap up that is this huge? He’s made suppressing his feelings into an art form, but despite his mom, his dad, despite everything, he’s never felt so conflicted bottling something up. With those things there was nothing he could do, no way he could make a difference. He did everything he could to protect Sammy, and even though he knows he wasn’t the best big brother, he thinks he did an ok job, especially seeing how great Sam’s doing these days. Growing up he fixed what he could, and buried what he couldn’t, locked it up tight and refused to let anybody see how much it affected him.

But now, with Castiel, he’s not sure what to do. After the conference incident he’s pretty sure Cas would freak if he made a move, and he doesn’t want to lose the incredible friendship that’s developed over the past year, but he honestly doesn’t think he can survive seeing him regularly, not if it’s going to feel like this. His chest actually hurts. He always thought it was some mushy exaggeration when he heard people talk like that, but now he knows that it’s true. He actually aches when he thinks of Cas, feels this profound sadness and emptiness that can only be filled by his presence, but then the hole is that much deeper after he leaves. Dean can’t keep sinking further and further into this hell. There’s got to be a breaking point.

He decides to head over to Bobby’s now just get it over with, and if he’s lucky he’ll have time for a drive after. He gets in the Impala and feels a little good for the first time that day as it rumbles to life. “Some things will never change, eh Baby?” he asks, fondly patting the dashboard. He always thought of his car as kind of a guardian, this amazing bad-ass who was always there for him, always took him where he needed to go, in every sense, and was his sanctuary. She was like big sister, a wife, and a drug to him all at once. He wonders vaguely whether that’s what being loved feels like. Safe, protected, familiar. His mind starts to wander, wondering whether there’s any way he could ever have that, whether with all his baggage anyone could ever feel like that about him. He sighs when he realises that couldn’t possibly happen. He’s way too big a fuck-up, and as he shakes his head to free himself of his self-pity he discovers he’s already pulling into Bobby and Ellen’s. _Damnit, how did that even happen?_

He goes up to the door, knocks and walks in. The shop is the closest thing to home he can remember other than the place he rents from them for him and Sam, and it’s been made clear to him repeatedly that he can let himself in to the house next door whenever.

“Hello? Bobby? Ellen?” He calls out when he doesn’t meet either of them right away. He meanders through the house until he finds Ellen in the kitchen, cleaning up from what looks like the breakfast of his dreams. Great, that helps.

“Dean? What’s up honey?” She’s covered in dish soap but offers her cheek with the clear expectation of a greeting, telling Dean he’s not off the hook just cause she can’t trap him in a hug. He leans over and gently kisses her cheek while wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey. Um, sorry to bother you, Bobby asked me to come round today. I guess I’m a bit early.” Did he imagine that look of sadness that just flashed across her face? Either way, it’s gone now, and she goes back to attacking the frying pan, making it regret its production day.

“Dean you’re never a bother, what’s it going to take to drive that through that thick skull of yours? Anyway, I think he’s in the study, reading some godforsaken tome. Gotta love the weekend.” Despite her sarcasm Dean sees her smiling, and he can read the love she feels for Bobby clear as day in her features. He’ll never forgive his father for everything he did, for all the people he hurt, but at least one good thing came from all of that heartache and pain. Dean knows that love like Bobby and Ellen’s is a rare gift, that it’s the kind found in storybooks and make-believe, and it makes him inexplicably happy to witness it, to know it’s real. 

“Whatever, you love the nerdy bastard.” He chuckles, before feeling the pang shoot through his ribs. Oh god, this can’t be how he goes through life. Everything reminds him of Cas, makes him hurt, makes him, _oh goddamnit,_ yearn. The word sounds like some emo teenage girl writing crappy poetry, and Dean did not just think it. And now he’s remembering Cas reading that poem, the way the filthy words sounded tumbling from his lips, and Dean suddenly realises Ellen’s said his name three times.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Ellen’s drying off her hands, coming towards Dean like she’s afraid he might collapse. “Did you eat this morning, want me to fix you something?” She leads him to a kitchen chair then starts fussing, getting the pan she just cleaned and letting it clatter down on the stove as she heads for the fridge. This snaps Dean back.

“No Ellen, it’s fine. I mean, yes, I did. I’m, I’m fine, I just slept like crap.” She raises an eyebrow, like this explanation in no way justifies his behaviour, but she doesn’t press the issue. Instead she pours him a big mug of coffee and hands it over before sitting beside him, patting his knee twice in a familiar gesture of affection that doesn’t need words.

“Boy, I know you aren’t one for talking, but you know I’m always here if you change your mind, yes?” He takes a sip, letting the steaming liquid revive him, and nods, looking her in the eyes hoping she understands that he can’t, he just can’t shape words that reflect what’s happening in his head. Can’t dare to imagine what being happy might be like for him, how being with someone would feel, how being loved would feel. He can’t risk putting himself first, the consequences are just too huge. Instead he just nods again before returning his stare to the mug in front of him, the mug that doesn’t look at him with a stare that can slice through any bullshit and doesn’t make him feel like his mask might be slipping. He hears her exhale beside him, long and resigned, before gently saying she’ll go get Bobby.

_Get a hold of yourself man, at this rate Bobby’ll find you out in a heartbeat_ , he thinks to himself. He puts the coffee down and stands up, shaking off these thoughts, trying to let the emotions run off like water in a shower, and he pretends he’s convinced himself it worked by the time Bobby arrives in the kitchen. Bobby nods in greeting, takes one look at him, and heads straight to the fridge. Grabbing two beers he turns around and grumbles “Let’s go outside,” before heading out the back deck, and Dean silently follows, leaving his half-drunk coffee behind.

They sit down in the deck chairs Sam and Dean helped stain a few summers ago, and Bobby passes one of the beers over. They crack the tops, cheers, and take a few sips in silence. Dean’s dreading what might happen next, and cringes when Bobby opens his mouth. “Boy, I know you’re not fine, so don’t try to smoke me for one goddamn minute. Something’s wrong, and there’s no point lying bout it. You don’t have to talk about your feelings or whatever, but you need to tell me something, just, something, so I can help. You look like hell and you’re distracted all the time and whatever the problem is, it’s okay. We’ll figure out what to do next. That’s why I’m here.” Dean nods casually, trying to keep his game face on, and starts composing his perfect answer.

And suddenly Dean can’t stand the idea of hiding it all anymore. Bobby will probably kick him out as soon as he knows, but he can’t lie about this anymore, it’s been killing him for the past six years. Things suck right now anyway, might as well add fuel to the fire and get it all over with.

“There’s…there’s someone…I have a friend, and I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship, but I’m not sure I can handle just being friends anymore.” He’s very carefully focused on the corner of Bobby’s chair, avoiding his eyes and concentrating on what to say next. He takes a deep breath and tries to continue. “But, well, I can’t, it doesn’t even matter, cause, cause…” He can’t find words to express what a disgusting human being he is, so he grabs the next thought that occurs to him. “Cause what if something happens to Sammy?”

Bobby looks at him seriously, and Dean can see him trying to connect the dots in his head, staring at him as if waiting for him to fill in some of the pretty giant freaking gaps in that image. He takes a swig of beer and attempts to gently work through this with Dean. “So, because you don’t want to lose a friend you don’t want to make a move, but you think that even if you did, and that somehow works out, something bad will happen to your brother?”

And hearing it like that sounds stupid, even Dean knows that, but of course Bobby doesn’t know the whole story. “Bad things happen when I’m happy Bobby. They just do. The night Mom died she had made me my favourite dinner, read me my favourite story. Every time Sammy and I managed to have a good time, Dad would come home and he’d…” Bobby nods, and Dean knows he knows. He tries to continue, reaching the hardest part. “And the night Dad died…”

“Son your daddy drank himself to death; that is in no way your fault.” Stupid Bobby doesn’t even know how wrong he is. Dean fidgets with the label on the beer bottle, looking for the right words.

“No, Bobby it… it actually is. That night, I had gone to the bar with him, and left with some chick. I didn’t tell him I was leaving, I just took off with her. We cabbed to her place, and we, uh…whatever. When I went to leave around dawn I had five missed calls, and three voicemails. All from Dad. The first one said he needed a ride home. The second one was an hour later, said if I didn’t get my ass to the bar right away he would find his own way home. The third one was from 3am, and just said he was taking the Impala home.”

He takes a deep breath, realises he had just blurted out all that information without properly breathing, things he had never told anyone, and his chest hurts again. He can barely stand to do it, but before Bobby could say anything Dean finishes connecting the dots for him. “It was my fault Bobby. If I hadn’t gone home with her I would have had my phone on, would have been able to go get him, and he wouldn’t have, wouldn’t have… Bobby, it’s my fault.”

A heavy silence follows, and Dean can see Bobby processing this information. He braces himself for the inevitable condemnation that will follow, the tirade of judgement and repulsion, the eviction notice and the threat to take Sammy away from such an irresponsible and incompetent jackass. Bobby takes an enormous draught of his beer before finally speaking. “All this time, you’ve been carrying that weight on your shoulders?” That wasn’t what Dean had expected, maybe Bobby misheard him.

“No Bobby, you don’t understand, it’s because of –” Dean starts explaining again but doesn’t get the chance. Bobby cuts him off without even raising his voice, but the tone of authority in it is evident and Dean knows better than to try and speak over it.

“No it’s you don’t understand, boy. It’s because John was a selfish drunk that he died, ain’t got nothing to do with you. You were a kid, hell, you should have been out getting laid. You weren’t his personal taxi service. He was a full-grown man, he should have known better than to drive home; and he sure as hell should have known better than to guilt someone in his family to come pick his useless ass up." 

Dean’s mouth just drops, startled by Bobby’s scathing condemnation. He’s never really criticised their father, and certainly not so vehemently. Bobby hangs his head and shakes it, then looks back to Dean. “Have you really thought this all this time? Have you denied yourself any happiness for six years because of that selfish asshole?”

Dean can’t answer. He can’t defend his father, he’s not even sure he regrets that he’s gone, but he knows it’s his fault, knows the guilt he should feel. Bobby understands clear enough though, and keeps at him. “Boy, you are a better man than your daddy ever was. You are not responsible for his shitty choices, and you have more than atoned for his poor judgement over the years. Hell, look what you’ve done with Sam, you raised that boy as your own, despite not being much older than he was. Dean you’re a good man. You deserve to be happy.”

The tears reach Dean’s eyes before he can stop them, but Bobby has the grace to pretend he doesn’t see them. Dean whimpers a feeble protest, still unable to accept this exoneration through the guilt and shame he’s internalized for so long. “Bobby…" 

“Don’t you ‘Bobby’ me! You are a good man Dean Winchester, and you’re an incredible brother. I’m proud of you boy. And trust me, anyone would be damn lucky to have you this worked up about them. You make a move, you hear me? Dare to hope, son. And if they really are such a great friend, then even if they don’t reciprocate, they won’t begrudge you for trying.”

Dean just sits there, tears streaming down his face, trembling hands trying and failing to act out the familiar sensation of raising the bottle to his lips, trying to find some sense of normalcy in this insane conversation. Could Bobby be right? Could he really dare to try and be happy? Was there even a chance that Cas could ever forgive him if he tried and Cas said no, which was basically inevitable?

His brain keeps running through potential scenarios, mostly bad, but he lets himself slip in a couple of happy endings too. When he finishes his beer Bobby silently goes and gets them each another one, and they sit like that in the back, with Bobby just being there for him. He can’t believe this man has forgiven him, and moreover that he thinks he should forgive himself. For the first time in six years, Dean starts to think that maybe he might end up ok, someday.

*          *          *

When he leaves he shakes Bobby’s hand, and before he can stop him the man pulls him in and hugs him tight. Dean’s always appreciated that Bobby understood Dean’s abhorrence of expressing things, how he only pushed when it was obvious he needed to. After that conversation it’s clear Bobby knows that this is all Dean needs to feel supported, feel accepted. And Dean nods at Bobby to convey his understanding before sliding into the Impala, pulling out, and taking off in the opposite direction from home. He’s got a few hours before Cas comes over tonight, and he needs to clear his head.

He’s hoping to zone out, but it’s not going according to plan. His conversation with Bobby rattles in his brain, disrupting what used to work so well. Driving around, singing along to his music, this used to be a release for Dean, used to be how he got out of his head, recharged, and just…was. If he thought about it much he’d say it was like his form of meditation, but like hell he’d ever say that to anyone. But lately that hasn’t been working, because too many of his favourite songs are conspiring against him, tricking him into singing lyrics that all too accurately reflect how he feels before he notices it, and he’s sick of having these stupid mini-revelations when he’s trying to relax. It’s getting to the point where he’s sometimes afraid to put on music when Cas is in the car in case he makes an ass of himself again and Cas figures it out. Not that Cas knows most of those songs, but he can listen to the lyrics as well as anyone and would figure it out. Hell, look what happened with Van Halen. Cas is a professional nerd, it’s his job to figure stuff out. Son of a bitch, how did this get so confusing?

AC/DC, that’s the ticket. He finds the tape and pops it in, bracing himself for the guitar riffs and pounding drums that will soothe his mind, block out his other thoughts. But they don’t come. There’s a steady beat, but it’s not as aggressive as usual. And he hates himself for leaving it on, but he lets the song play out.

“ _It's another lonely evenin' in another lonely town._ ” Sigh. Has Cas seriously ruined every song he’s ever liked? He thinks about stopping at a liquor store on the way home, buying too much whiskey and just texting Cas that he can’t come over tonight. But then the music breaks through his thoughts.

“ _Got another empty bottle_  
And another empty bed  
Ain't too young to admit it  
And I'm not too old to lie  
I'm just another empty head.  
That's why I'm lonely  
I'm so lonely  
But I know what I'm gonna do

_I’m going to ride on.”_

What _was_ he going to do? Dean didn’t know how much more he could take of this. Didn’t know how many more times he could sit beside Cas, laugh with him like nothing was going on behind his smile, touch his shoulders like they were just the tip of his desire. God, could Bobby have been right?

He desperately wonders if there is any chance he and Cas could be… more. He doesn’t even know what to call it He never thought he’d want to be with a man. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. Dean’s always liked it fairly rough, and after the way Cas read that poem Dean is positive that he would be putty in the man’s hands. The thought is so alluring, so, so tempting, Dean can barely stand it. But he can’t lose Castiel. He knows this with a certainty he can’t explain, he knows it’s as true as gravity or sunlight. As awful as it is not knowing, maybe it’s better than knowing there’s absolutely no chance, of ruining their friendship by making some awkward move that goes unreciprocated. As his thoughts careen out of control the music crashes through again.

“ _And it's another redlight nightmare_  
Another redlight street  
And I ain't too old to hurry  
Cause I ain't too old to die  
But I sure am hard to beat.  
But I'm lonely  
Lord I'm lonely  
What am I gonna do?”

And suddenly Dean realises what he’s going to do. There’s a way he could find out without jeopardizing everything, a way he could stop feeling so incredibly lonely. He set this up weeks ago without even being aware of the favour he was doing himself. “ _Another redlight nightmare.”_ And Dean smiles to himself because finally, finally he feels like maybe there’s a way he can get out of this alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hate me?
> 
> Thanks for joining me! Comments and kudos are my life-blood :D   
> Come say hi, I live [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armed with a plan Dean finally makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal gratitude to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing this fic! Thank you doll!!!!
> 
> Guys, guys! Guess what? We're almost there. 
> 
>  
> 
> ***Chapter specific trigger warnings in end notes (nothing that isn't in the tags).***

It’s been an evening like any other, except Dean’s finding it even harder to behave than usual. They eat dinner together with a normal amount of chatting and banter, and then throw on yet another movie Cas had never heard of. It’s been on for an hour and even though Dean’s seen it before he has no idea what’s happening, he’s far too distracted by the angelic form in front of him. He thinks back to months ago when he put that dumb halo on Cas head. Even then Dean had thought he looked adorable, he just didn’t realise that’s what the tug of affection in his breast had actually meant. Cas is sitting on the floor between his knees, Dean’s hands on his shoulders and Cas’ back leaning into him, resting against his thighs dangerously close to his groin. Dean is so hard he’s sure Cas must know, and he can’t begin to imagine how tonight might go.

After his conversation with Bobby, and then his epiphany, hanging out with Cas tonight is so much worse, so much more challenging. Dean tries to play it cool like usual, well, at least as cool as he sometimes pulls off, but it’s just not working. He’s not sure if it’s the hope he’s starting to dare to kindle, or if Castiel looks extra incredible in his simple black tee and jeans, or if it’s just his imagination running wild, but honestly, it’s so much worse tonight. They’ve been sitting like this for an hour, and he can’t take it anymore. Before he knows it, Dean’s right hand has snaked up from Cas’ shoulder of its own accord and has run through the dark, dishevelled hair he’s dreamed of grasping countless times. Dean’s horrified, but Cas just leans backwards and murmurs pleasantly.

Dean can barely think. He needs something green, come on brain. “Apples, Cas?” he manages to gulp. Damnit those could be green or red. _Worst choice possible, damnit Dean!_ This can’t be real. He knows he’s about to crash and burn, that he just fucked the whole thing up and that any second Cas is going to storm out of his house and his life forever.

Instead he hears “Mmmhmmm,” and Cas leans into the touch, sliding further towards Dean and resting his back higher against Dean’s thigh, so high that now he must notice Dean’s excitement. Dean tries to process what’s happening, how he never expected Cas to react like this. His worst-case scenarios hadn’t prepared him for this. So, maybe, just maybe, Cas likes Granny Smith apples? Dean’s hand keeps playing in Cas’ dishevelled hair, wondering where the hell this is going. And then the thumb of his left hand has slid up from Castiel’s shoulder and is stroking his jaw tenderly, lingering behind his ear before tracing the sharp outline of his chin, all from behind. Dean’s breath is already so erratic he’s sure Cas must know, but he hasn’t freaked out, and Dean can’t take it anymore. He needs to know. If this all blows up at least he can blame Cas for encouraging him, and it won’t have gone too far to come back from. 

“You’re sure this is still green light, Cas?” Dean asks, terrified of the answer but knowing that he can’t keep waiting, can’t keep pretending. Not one more day, not one more minute. Not if there’s even a chance. He needs to know, and he needs to know now. He’s surprised by how suddenly it hits him, but it’s true. He’s wasted enough time.

Cas’ voice answers low, coursing through Dean’s whole body. “Damnit Dean, there isn’t a stoplight for miles.” As his brain tries to process this response Cas turns around, leans in, and kisses him. It’s soft and tender and Dean can feel all the time they’ve spent together poured into this kiss, and his knees feel weak, and he didn’t know that was even a real thing until now, and he can still barely react.

As they pull apart for air he expects Cas to back off, even now. But Cas is grinning, and his eyes are so dark Dean gasps. “Just fucking drive.” Cas growls out the order, his guttural voice reverberating throughout Dean, sending a shockwave that ends at his dick and shakes him back to reality.

And then he’s smashing into Cas’ face, devouring him with the want he’s tried to keep hidden for months now, letting it all flow out and carry him away with Cas in his arms and knowing that this is ok, that Cas wants it just as bad, and Dean honestly doesn’t think he can take much more of this without exploding. Turns out Cas has other plans. He pulls away from their kiss, breathless, and Dean can see how flushed he looks, how swollen his lips have become, and Dean is achingly, painfully aware of how hard he is in his jeans.

“Sam might come home, we should go to your bedroom.” _Whoa_. Cas really does want to make up for lost time. Sam’s spending the night at Jessica’s again, so it doesn’t make much difference, but Dean wants this, and is happy for the excuse. He’s so excited he forgets that Cas knows Sam’s at Jessica’s just as well as he does. He just nods, and Cas stands up, reaches for Dean’s hand, and starts to lead him upstairs. When they reach Dean’s bedroom door Cas thrusts him against it and pins his hands above his shoulders, kissing him frantically, nipping gently at his neck as Dean whimpers, completely hopeless under his attentions.

“Cas,” he barely manages to whisper, taking huge breaths to get the two words out. “Bed.” He’s still in shock that this is happening, feels like it still might be a trick. That Cas might stop and laugh, say ‘gotcha’ and leave.

But Cas doesn’t do that. Of course he doesn’t. Instead he wraps a hand around Dean’s hip and backs him into the bedroom, striding purposefully to the bed. Once there he lowers Dean and climbs on top, knees resting on either side of Dean’s left leg, and Dean’s sitting up facing Cas so close, sliding his hands all over the rumpled shirt, and he hesitantly starts to slide it up, hardly daring to believe this is actually happening. Cas groans in response and leans down to lick along Dean’s neck, lips grazing his jaw, his collarbone, rendering the entire shirt-removal process much more complicated. Meanwhile Cas has slid off Dean’s overshirt and is greedily grabbing at the bottom of his tee. He holds his hands flush against Dean’s sides as he pushes the shirt up and over his head, eyes taking in every inch of him as it’s revealed.

Flustered, Dean finally manages to get Cas’ shirt over his head and Cas tears it off his arms before Dean gets the chance, throwing it across the room behind him like it had personally offended him. And then he’s laying Dean down on the bed and kissing his chest and his arms and his stomach. Dean is lying on his back gasping from the sensation, running his hands over any part of Cas he can reach while receiving these ministrations, vaguely wondering if he should be more freaked out about making out with a dude. But then Cas shifts his weight and suddenly Dean can feel his hardness pressing against his own, and they start grinding and he thinks he might explode right then.

“Jesus Christ Cas.” In response Cas just growls hungrily, pushing his hips against Dean and continuing to frantically kiss him. He can’t believe this is happening. Can’t believe how strongly Cas has reacted. For a second his hands still, and he’s positive the other man has read his mind when he leans back and makes purposeful eye contact with him.  
  
“Dean,” And his voice is so low, so wracked with need that it sends Dean into spirals of heady desire. “Trust me. I want you.” How could a growl possibly sound that sexy? Be that destructive? But Dean can still barely accept that this is happening.

“Cas, are you sure?” And he’s greeted with a chuckle, callous and sarcastic, as Cas starts to work Dean’s belt, starts to undo his pants.

“Does it look like I’m fucking unsure?” And then Dean feels a hand on his dick, and even though it’s through the fabric of his jeans it sends shivers through his whole body. He starts bucking up into Cas’ hand, desperate for more contact, hands still grasping whatever part of Cas he can find in his delirium. He’s rock-hard and needs more, needs all of it, needs everything. He moans out Cas’ name, hoping the other man will understand the request.

He clearly does, since he slides Dean’s pants and boxers off in one confident tug and then he’s back, hand on Dean’s bare cock, and _holy shit this is amazing_. Dean’s never felt himself so close from a handjob before, and it’s incredible. He still can’t believe this is happening. It occurs to him Cas is still wearing pants, and he tugs down on the waistband in a futile gesture, whimpering slightly. Cas looks at him and he just pouts out “pants,” before gasping again, and Cas grins as he uses his free hand to undo his own pants and shimmy out of them. He isn’t wearing any underwear, and Dean’s brain almost short-circuits.

He returns to lying half-beside, half on top of Dean, grinding down against him. Dean suddenly realises that Cas is grinding his hard cock against Dean’s naked thigh, and it’s the craziest thought. Ten hours ago he was trying to decide if there was any chance Cas could possibly care, any chance that he wouldn’t walk out his life if he dared make a move. Whether there was any chance he could ever respond favourably. _I would say this counts as favourably_ , his brain offers helpfully between expletives and moans.

And then Cas looks him in the eyes, an unspoken question there. Dean suddenly realises what’s about to happen, but it doesn’t freak him out, doesn’t make him panic. He doesn’t care anymore, he just needs more of this, more of Cas. All of him. And he nods, swallows hard, and then nods again, smiling slightly. “Go easy on me, though, ok?”

Cas leans forward and kisses him so tenderly, with so much care, that Dean knows he can completely trust him. But then as he’s pulling back Cas takes Dean’s lower lip in his teeth and presses just hard enough to get Dean’s attention and elicit a slight gasp. “Promise. At least, this time.” And Dean catches that diabolical grin again, and he knows that he is in deep, deep trouble, and he can’t wait. He also realises that Cas just told him this isn’t a one-off, that he wants to do this again, and the comfort those two simple words give him warms him almost as much as their current endeavours.

He rolls over to scramble in his bedside table before realizing he doesn’t have any condoms. Of course he doesn’t. He hasn’t done anything with anyone in six goddamn years. Before he knows it Dean’s brain has been completely derailed and now he’s trying to explain why he doesn’t have supplies in his bedroom.

“You don’t have to be so nervous Dean. And don’t worry, I think I have one in my jeans.” Cas leans over the bed to rummage around in his pocket. Dean doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to lose his chance with Cas, because suddenly he doesn’t believe there will be a next time, that this was all an act, and he starts trembling. He was so close, of course he fucked this up. He starts shaking harder now, all positivity sucked out of his mind as sure as if it’d been exposed to the vacuum of space. He can’t do this. What if something happened to Sam? What if he had a few at Jessica’s and then tried to head home? What if there was an accident? What if-?

“Dean!” The voice suddenly cuts through, and Dean is surprised to find himself curled up, Cas now beside him, not touching him except on his shoulder. “Dean, talk to me. I’m right here.” Dean starts shaking his head, tears leaking out of his eyes unbidden. “I’m sorry Dean, I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I thought… it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry. Can you calm down for me? Take some deep breaths? I’m going to get dressed, but I’m right here, and I need you to slow your breathing down, ok? Innnnnn, and ouuuuuuuut. Come on Dean, innnnnn, and ouuuuuuuut.”

 _Nothing’s wrong with my breathing_. No sooner has Dean thought it then he hears himself gasping, choking down miniscule breaths that make him feel like he’s drowning. Focusing on Cas’ exaggerated breaths he gets a hold of himself and slowly starts to match pace, concentrating on drawing them out longer and longer each time. By the time he’s caught his breath and can move again Cas is sitting on the side of the bed, fully dressed, just touching his shoulder. Suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable he looks down but is confused to see the sheet draped over him. _Did Cas do that without me even noticing_? He can’t believe how much he fucked this night up, despite his initial naïve hope that it would go well. Of course it didn’t. Of course he would screw this up, scare Cas into leaving. Of course he can’t have this.

“I’m sorry Cas, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t…I’m so sorry.” His breathing starts speeding up again but Cas does the loud breaths thing again and he’s able to calm himself sooner this time. He’s mortified but dares to look up at Cas. The man is sitting there gently running a hand over his upper arm and shoulder, trying to sooth him.

“Shhh, it’s ok Dean. It’s my fault, I’m sorry. I should leave, but I want to make sure you’re ok first. Make sure you’re calmed down. If you don’t want me to touch you anymore please say so, but it seemed to be helping.” He lifts up at the end, clearly waiting for Dean’s answer. In the moment it takes before Dean can respond Cas nods and removes his hand, sitting further back, but still breathing loudly and slowly enough for Dean to hold on to that and stay grounded. He finds Dean’s tee on the ground and passes it to him, and Dean slides it on before propping himself up on one elbow. He takes an enormous breath and then begins.

“Cas, I’m so so sorry man. I… god I’m a fuckup. I just, I let this get out of hand, and should have known better. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for, for this… For me.” The last words fall so softly he’s not sure Cas heard him. A tear slips down his cheek and he’s tugging on his face, trying to hide his shame.

“No Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t check with you enough, didn’t ask your color as we went. I thought… I was wrong, I’m sorry. Once you’re alright I’ll leave.” Cas looks so disappointed, and Dean hates himself for letting him down like that.

“You don’t have to… I’m so sorry I fucked up.” Dean is shaking his head slightly, shame coursing through his entire body. “I’m so sorry Cas.” He pauses, resting his head in his hand. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I swear, I’m just fine.” He dares to look into Cas eyes, hoping to see that he believes him.

Cas just nods, solemnly and sadly, and then stands up. “Well then I should go. Dean, I need you to know that if you want, we’re still friends, that if you need me tonight you can call and I’ll be there for you however you need. I’m always here for you.” He stands there, hesitating for a moment, almost as if he was waiting for Dean to say something else. But Dean doesn’t say anything, and Cas turns around and walks out.

Dean can feel himself shatter completely the second the door closes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Throws chapter at you and hides*
> 
> ***Trigger warning: there is a panic attack while fooling around, and it reads like safewording. It's handled respectfully.***


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to [Dangerousnotbroken](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken) for beta-ing! Thank you darlin!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> *** Chapter specific trigger warnings in end notes. If you have concerns about dubcon, please read those notes before reading this chapter.***

The next day Dean wakes weary and repulsed. He can’t believe he did that. He can’t believe he took this amazing friendship with the person he’s felt the most comfortable with in his whole life and thrown it away cause he couldn’t control his fucking dick. He really doesn’t deserve to be happy. He just doesn’t.

He makes himself get up and get dressed, cringing as he changes out of his tee from last night. As he peels it off it feels dirty, contaminated, as if stained by his selfish behaviour the night before. He throws it into the hamper with more force than necessary and bangs his hand on it as he does. Cursing under his breath, he’s secretly grateful for the pain, for the sensation of still being alive. He shakes his head as if trying to dislodge the memories and then forces himself to go downstairs for breakfast. Only when he walks into the empty kitchen does he remember Sam spent the night at Jessica’s. He hadn’t really thought about it when Sam had said he was going to her place overnight that it meant he wouldn’t be home for breakfast Sunday morning. And that’s when it happens.

He kicks one of the cupboards and bangs his hand on the counter and then just stands there as the tears start to fall again. In just a year his whole life had changed. There are no more family dinners every night, no more big weekend breakfasts. It’s not him and Sam against the world anymore. Sam’s found Jessica and that’s all he needs now. Sam’s an adult who’s succeeding at school, has an amazing girlfriend, and has Bobby and Ellen looking out for him too. Hell even Cas is helping him out at school, and just thinking of his prof makes Dean wince. Just as surely as Sam grew up, Dean outgrew his purpose. The realisation that Sam’s not a little kid anymore has been threatening to break in on him all year, and now that it has Dean doesn’t know what to do. All he’s ever thought about was the best way to look out for Sammy, and now the kid doesn’t need him to, and he doesn’t know how to be his brother without that.

Before he can feel too sorry for himself he thinks back on the last time he heard from Sammy. Has he texted yet today? He checks his phone and sees several missed texts from Cas, but none from Sam. Ignoring those he phones his brother and barely breathes as the phone rings. Once, twice, three times _oh god no_ , four, five, _please, I’ll do anything,_ six, _just please_.

“Dean? Whaddaya want? What time is it?” Sam’s yawning into the phone completely oblivious to Dean’s panic on the other end of the line. He forces his breathing to slow like…like he had last night, then moves on, makes sure his brother’s alright.

“It’s nearly ten. I’m sorry man, don’t worry about it. I forgot you were at Jess’ last night. You, um, you know when you’re going to be home?” He’s rubbing the back of his neck trying to concentrate his concern into anything other than his tone of voice and hopes it convinces his brother.

“I dunno, like, 2 maybe? Wait a minute. What?” The last word comes across muffled and then Sam’s back. “Wait, I promised to take Jess skating later, thanks for waking me up early and making me look like a jackass cause I forgot, Dean. How about I just meet you at the shop for dinner?”

Dean barely keeps his voice even. “Sure thing, see you then. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He tries to joke as he goes to hang up.

He hears Sam grumble, “Ugh, gross Dean, you’re my _brother_!” before the line goes dead.

_Dinner._

How the hell is he supposed to go back over there tonight and explain to Bobby what happened. Hell, he won’t have to, one look at him and the old man will know right away. Dean slumps down on the floor and lets the levee break, lets wave after wave of emotion hit him as he fully grasps just how much he fucked up the night before. God, Cas was way too nice. He kept saying what Dean wanted to hear just to make him feel better, just to save him the embarrassment of knowing how thoroughly he had ruined their friendship, how completely shattered that relationship was now. _Good going Dean_ , he thinks through the silent tears. _You wanted to test the waters, treat it like a busted car and see where it took you? Well you blew the damn thing up._ He slowly shakes his head, wishing life worked like an etch-a-sketch and this would be enough to erase yesterday’s actions.

Only once he feels completely wrung out does he remember the missed texts waiting on his phone. Part of him wants to delete them without even reading them, sure that they’re filled with rage and contempt, but the part of him that hates himself, and knows he deserves to feel that contempt, makes him open them up.

The first one is from last night, and judging from the time Cas must have sent it once he got home.

<< _Dean I am sorry that escalated too far; I’ll never forgive myself. I hope you’re feeling a bit calmer. Please try to get some rest._

Of course Cas’ll never forgive himself for letting Dean trick him like that, he was a monster. How could he even give a damn about whether Dean’s calm or not after what he did to Cas. This was just proving even more to Dean that he had never stood a chance with him anyway. The next text was sent at 4:51 am and Dean can’t figure out why Cas was still awake then.

<< _I understand if you don’t want to see me ever again. I won’t blame you in any way. But when you see this please let me know you’re doing better? I need to know you’re alright._

Dean’s confused. Why… why would Cas care if he’s alright if he never wanted to see him again? It makes no sense. He’s not surprised that Cas doesn’t want to meet up anymore, he figured as much, but it still hurts like hell to read it. Hardly daring to read the next one, he opens it up.

<< _I’m so sorry Dean._

Fuck. Dean is such an ass that this guy is apologizing for rejecting him. Cas is so unbelievably nice that he actually feels sorry for Dean for giving it a try with him. Why did he ever tell Bobby the truth? Why’d he let himself believe, for even a second, that he could do a happily ever after bit? He should have known better. He should have stuck to what he knew, that he can make it alone, and left his friend alone rather than fucking up everything they’d built together over the year.

_God fucking damnit._

*          *          *

Nearly an hour later he’s still on the kitchen floor, exhausted in every conceivable way, and trying to figure out how to get through the day. He wants to drive as far away as possible, just feel the air in his hair and take the open road ahead of him, but there are a few problems with that. For one, he doesn’t trust that car anymore to grant him escapism. Just yesterday she proved she still was judging him through music, and he knows that if the wrong song came on today he just might change lanes without checking. Besides, when he drives in his car now he thinks of the conference, thinks of how good Cas looked sitting in the passenger seat grinning over at him. He thinks of going to that dumb dance with Sam and Jessica and how excited and adorable they’d been, and how he had actually ached with pride seeing them together. But mostly, he knows he’d think about his dad, and how he broke everything he touched too. Like father, like son, and nothing connected the two of them more at that moment than that fucking car.

Which led to the biggest problem with the driving plan: Dean wants a drink. Actually, he wants several. He wants to drink until he forgets how terribly he treated such a decent man. Until he forgets the Sam doesn’t need him anymore. That Bobby pities him. That Ellen thinks he isn’t good enough. That even Jo thinks he’s a loser. He wants to swim in it until he feels numb and can escape the pain pounding in his chest and just be at peace, however temporarily. In the end, that is what wins, because he has John’s blood in his veins and he knows he’s no better. He grabs a full bottle from the cupboard, a glass, and goes and sits in his room with the door shut for hours, drinking, crying, and trying to forget what a broken husk of a man he’s become.

*          *          *

He wakes hours later disoriented by the darkness and the pounding. At first he thinks it’s just in his head, but then he hears Sam calling his name too. He groans in response, just letting the noise crawl out his throat and hoping it will be enough to stop the pounding. Sam lets himself in and stares at his brother. After taking in the room, including the empty bottle lying on the floor, he just quietly breathes out his brother’s name.

“Dean…” he looks worried. Looks scared and sad and Dean tries to fix it, despite feeling like shit.

“Hiya Sammy. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Had trouble sleeping last night so I took some initiative to compensate.” Sam does not look like he believes this for a second, so Dean just keeps going. “What are you doing home, I thought we were meeting at Bobby and Ellen’s?” He starts looking around trying to figure out what time it is, but Sam’s still jus staring at him. Finally he shakes his head and answers him.

“We were supposed Dean, ya. But you never showed. And then Bobby told me to leave it, but then Cas phoned and apologized for intruding but asked me to make sure you were ok, and then I come home to find you like this.” Sam is almost glaring at him, and Dean can sense that he’s about one wrong comment from exploding at him. He tries to pick the safest topic first.

“I’m sorry Sammy, I really am, I lost track of time. Were they pissed I bailed?” He’s rubbing his face trying to wake up the rest of the way and willing his stomach to settle. This will go very, very poorly if he throws up right now.

“Gee, I dunno Dean, let me think. Of course they were pissed! Ellen nearly drove over here herself, Bobby had to hold her back, saying he was sure your phone had died and you weren’t feeling well, said you had been looking a bit rough yesterday. Why were you over there yesterday anyway? What’s going on Dean?”

_Shit_. Dean’s mind is scrambling, desperately trying to come up with a valid story here. _Shit_. “I just, there was a work thing Bobby asked me to come over to talk about, it’s not a big deal Sammy.”

“No big deal, really? Then why did Cas call? Why did he sound like you two had a giant fight?” Sam’s nearly breathing fire, and Dean knows he’s about to blow. Unfortunately his mouth works faster than his mind.

“He really called you?”

“Damnit Dean, just tell me what is going on!” Dean flinches under the voice, and tries to recover, but it’s too late, and Sam sits down on the edge of the bed, shoving Dean’s legs out of the way. He takes a deep breath and then looks right at his big brother before asking “What did he do to you?”

_What did_ he _do to_ me? Dean can’t believe… How could Sam think that Cas, of all people, could do anything to him that he didn’t deserve? He tries to answer but his voice is raw. “He didn’t do a damn thing Sammy. He could never, I mean, it’s Cas. He even apologized to me, the stupid son of a bitch! He’s so…He’s just so…” He starts crying again, and hates himself the more for it. “Sam, Cas would never hurt anyone, ok? It was me. I fucked up, and I screwed everything up, and he’s never going to talk to me again, ok?”

He’s nearly sobbing now, the pain of what happened mixing with the mortification of having his brother feel like he needs to be defended against someone as kind and considerate as Cas. He just manages to get out, “That’s what’s going on Sammy,” before succumbing completely to the despair and shame. He’s lying there, crying in front of his baby brother, and he wishes he could disappear forever.

“Dean,” Sam begins once Dean’s calmed down a bit, having waited patiently the whole time. “Dean, what do you mean he even apologized? If he didn’t do anything, why would he apologize?” His voice is steadier now, less anger, more concern, and Dean thinks that’s probably worse. Looking after Dean isn’t Sam’s job, he shouldn’t be worrying about this.

“Dean. Why would he apologize, and call me, if he didn’t do something?” Sam’s voice is level, but there’s an edge there again, and Dean can’t place it. Suddenly he realises it’s protective. Sam is angry that someone hurt his brother, even though that’s not remotely what happened. He needs to stop him from doing something stupid, _Christ, this is his teacher for godsakes._

“Sam, no, you don’t understand. Look, I’ll let him know I’m fine, and tell him he was out of line to call you. I’m sorry that happened. He won’t be coming around anymore, so don’t worry, ok, it’s over.” He winces at his phrasing, but then the room starts spinning again, so he stops.

“Are you though Dean?” Seeing Dean looking at him confused, Sam continues. “Fine. Are you really?” As Sam looks at him there’s genuine searching in his face, and Dean’s worried he won’t be able to withstand this much longer without caving completely, and there’s no way he can do that. “You know you can talk to me, don’t you Dean?”

That’s when Dean realises that while Sam will always be his little brother, he really is an adult now. And it’s not college, it’s not Jessica, hell, it’s not even Latin. It’s being in a position to want to take care of him, of looking out for Dean, that really drives it home. Dean doesn’t know whether to be proud or terrified, because a world where Sam doesn’t need him is confusing as hell, but a world where Sam looks out for him is unfathomable. And now he doesn’t even have Cas to turn to about it.

“Course Sammy. There’s just nothing to talk about.” Dean forces a grin onto his tear stained face and doesn’t really care if it’s convincing, he’s just going to hold it until his brother gives in and leaves. Finally Sam sighs, shakes his head, and gets up to leave. He’s at the door before he turns around.

“Dean, I know it’s not my business and you don’t want to talk about it, but I think this whole thing is just a miscommunication. Please call him. Please?” He’s standing there looking so hopeful, Dean can’t help but nod.

“Sure thing Sammy, I’ll talk to him right now.” He picks his cell and waves it back and forth until his brother sighs again, leaving the room defeated. When he actually looks at his cell he sees a missed call from Bobby, one from Sam, and three from Cas. He sighs, unsure what to make of that. He doesn’t want to talk to Cas, not now, but he told Sam he’d get him off his case. He settles for a text to compromise.

_> >I know you’re pissed but please refrain from involving your students in my affairs. Sam wants nothing to do with this. I didn’t answer you because I apologized and now there’s nothing more to say. _

_What else is there to say_? He let his attraction to his best friend get out of hand and he’d taken advantage of him. There’s no coming back from that. There just isn’t. And there are no words to justify his behaviour. Besides, Cas had made his position very clear. He thinks to apologize to Bobby and Ellen at the same time, sending them the same message.

_> >Sorry I missed dinner. Been feeling rough since last night, I think I’m coming down with something. I’ll probably have to miss work tomorrow too. _

As soon as he sends that off his phone buzzes with a response from Cas.

_< <It’s good to hear from you, I’m glad you’re alright. I apologize for overstepping, it won’t happen again. Take care, Dean._

Frustrated he slams his phone down before rolling over and passing out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petrichoramber).
> 
> ***I want to offer up a slight spoiler for those with concerns, cause I love you more than I love storytelling. So I’m going to tell you now what these boys don’t figure out for a while: there was no non-con. These two idiots just don’t know how to communicate and so freaking out about one thing was confused for something else and then their confusion fed each other and now they’re in this giant mess. There was miscommunication about consent but both of them interpreted that as a stop and were respectful and no one feels coerced, they just both feel that they coerced the other. I hope this helped avoid triggering anyone and that you’re all ok.***


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little brothers are the worst, except sometimes they’re really not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing, thank you so much for the messages, the kudos, the high fives, and the threats. You guys are too sweet and I can't believe how many of you seem to really care about this story :D
> 
> There was no good place in the middle to split this up so hopefully this longer chapter will make you forgive me!

Dean spends the next day at home dozing, drinking, and hating everything. Sam’s at school and then at Jessica’s Monday nights so he’s not around to notice. Dean does the same thing Tuesday, just festers in self-loathing and guilt. And while he still hates everything, he finds he can only half-hate Bobby. Sure, he gave Dean the advice Saturday that ruined everything, but it was Dean who acted on it and Dean who screwed it all up. Besides, Ellen hasn’t barged in yet today, and she didn’t yesterday either, and the only person in the world that can convince Ellen Harvelle of anything is Bobby. Dean’s luck runs out Tuesday night though. When Sam gets home Dean’s wearing a robe over underwear and a tee, and is sprawled out watching Firefly with a near empty fifth of gut-rot in his hand.

Sam throws his bag onto the couch and then turns off the tv before standing in front of it and facing Dean, hands squarely on his hips. “You mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?” He’s standing there looking for all the world like he just caught Dean playing hooky.

“Calm down, you’re not my mother.” Dean winces inside the second he says it. _Again with that gift. Thanks gift_. “Watching Firefly. Nothing new about that.” He goes to take another sip but Sam grabs the bottle out of his hands.

“Jess just texted me from the pub, she’s there studying with some friends. She told me that Cas is sitting there at a table with two beers and an empty seat waiting for you.” Sam’s glowering and Dean would almost be afraid of the kid if he had the energy to spare.

“What? That’s dumb, why would he be there?” Dean puzzles over this new information trying to understand why the hell Cas would be there alone.

“She said it looked like he was waiting for you, and she texted to ask if you were coming. And no, I obviously didn’t say anything to her about your stellar behaviour this weekend. She just didn’t want the poor guy getting stood up.” Sam stands there nearly tapping his foot waiting for Dean to answer. Dean, for his part, is processing everything Sam just said. 

“Ok first of all, Samantha, you can’t stand up a friend, it’s not like we’re dating. Secondly, we agreed not to meet up anymore, so it’s his fault for going anyway. Maybe he’s meeting someone else there, I’m not his keeper.” Dean shrugs again, trying to convey an ambivalence to Sam that he doesn’t feel.

Sam damn near explodes. “First, _Deanna_ , you need to calm down and stop being all Dad about masculinity. It’s stupid and outdated and you should grow up. Secondly, you guys went out for dinner or drinks twice a week and he came over for a movie date every weekend, sometimes twice. Oh, also, you went out of town together, so actually, ya, it is like you’re dating. It’s _exactly_ like that. And finally, sometimes you are so goddamn stupid I cannot believe it!” He screams the last bit and storms off to his room before Dean has a chance to answer him. 

Well that’s just stupid. He and Cas haven’t been dating, that’s just… that’s just…. Actually a fair description? _Shit. Shit. How long has this really been going on?_ Dean thought this was just since the conference, but has it actually been longer? Has he basically been dating Cas for months without realising it? Is that even a thing, can you do that? He looks back on the times he met up with Cas over the year with a different lens, and suddenly it’s such a different story. Their little glances, their laughs, their inside jokes. Jesus, the games they’ve been playing, even without meaning to. Maybe they basically have been dating? Dean sighs as the weight of how much worse this is hits him. He really, really fucked this one up.

Whatever. He’s glad Cas has found someone else to spend time with Tuesdays. He pictures Cas’ smile and the way it crinkles the edges of his eyes, then winces at the thought of someone else making him smile like that. He turns the tv back on, and by the time the episode is over the fifth is lying on its side at his feet. 

*          *          *

The next day while they’re eating breakfast Dean can feel Sam’s contemptuous glares boring into the side of his face the entire time. Eventually he loses his patience and turns to him with hands out and eyebrows raised, daring him to say something. Sam turns to face him too and chastises him in frustration.

“Dean, are we gonna talk about this, or not?”

Dean’s eyes fall and he slams his bowl into the sink. He barks back “Or not,” as he storms out of the room and waits to hear Sam leave before returning downstairs. He then calls in sick for the whole rest of the week and tries to pretend he isn’t completely falling apart. He’d finally found someone he cared about, someone he was willing to question everything he knew about himself for, and what does he do? Fucks it up. Beyond recognition. Because that’s what he does. Bobby told him that trying to be happy wouldn’t hurt Sam, but it did, and what’s more it hurt Cas in ways he could never atone for.

He gets a text from Bobby Wednesday afternoon warning him that he’s getting this week free since he’s never skipped out before, but that if he’s not at Sunday dinner then he’ll come over himself to drag him there. Dean appreciates it so much because it shows just how well Bobby understands. Forcing him to come over now wouldn’t do any good, and Bobby can tell that Dean’s just been crushed and needs a break. He is also telling him that he wants to make sure he’s alright as a member of the family, not as an employee, and that helps too. And he’s saying he ain’t gonna let Dean get away with this forever, and that’s probably the best part. It reminds Dean that he’s been through more than his fair share of crap and he’s always come out on the other side, and though he doesn’t say so, the implication that Bobby thinks he can get through this really helps.

By Friday he’s almost feeling human again. He’s had a shower, gotten dressed, and even eaten. Plus it’s four and he’s only just cracked his first beer of the day. He’s doing better, for sure. And that’s when Sam gets home from school. He walks through the door, closing it behind him. Dean’s sitting on the couch watching tv, and again Sam walks over and turns it off, standing between it and his brother. 

“Dean, I have two extremely important questions, and you can sulk and deflect all you want later but just answer me truthfully about this, ok?” Dean’s surprised, but Sam looks at him so earnestly that for a second he sees that same chubby toddler covered in ravioli sauce staring at him through this overgrown man’s face and so he just swallows a gulp and nods. 

“Alright. Thank you. Now, did Cas ever hurt you?”

“What? No, Sammy, I told you–” Dean starts getting worked up but Sam silences him with a raised hand.

“It’s ok, Dean. You don’t have to explain to me. I just needed to be sure. Second question, and then you don’t owe me anything, ok? Ok….” Sam looks almost nervous, and Dean’s terrified of what might be the second question. Seeming resolved, Sam takes a deep breath, looks up again, and fixes Dean. “Do you feel safe alone with him?”

“Sam… Dude what the hell?” Dean’s stood up now, beer left forgotten on the end table, and is staring up into his brother’s questioning face.

“Damnit Dean, just this once cooperate and tell me the truth?” The sincere and almost afraid look Sam has is the only reason Dean caves. 

“Yes, Sam, alright? Yes. I was the one who fucked up, if anything, Cas is probably afraid of me.” He hates himself for saying it out loud and looks away ashamed. Sam’s answer is the last thing in the world he expected to hear.

“He’s not.”

Dean turns now, looking his brother up and down trying to understand. “What?”

“I said, ‘he’s not.’ I asked him. I just needed to ask you and be sure before I did this.” And then Sam goes back to the front door and opens it to reveal a very nervous, very sheepish looking Latin professor sitting on the stoop. He scrambles to his feet hearing the door open, and can barely maintain eye contact with Dean, but tries.

“Sam, what the hell man?” Dean slugs Sam on the shoulder, genuinely frustrated but more just unsure what’s happening right now. Sam looks from one to the other, then gestures for Cas to come in. He does so, hesitantly, staying close to the door and giving them lots of space.

Sam looks back and forth between them before taking a deep breath, pursing his lips, and then beginning. “Now that you both know that neither one of you is actually afraid of the other I think we’re ready. I know you guys are my prof and my big brother and you both think you’re in charge of me and responsible for me but just shut up and listen up for a minute.” Sam looks a little flustered for talking to his professor this way, but he doesn’t let it slow him down.

“I’m pretty sure you two are letting a great relationship slip away because of a miscommunication compounded by the fact that you’re the two most stubborn people on earth. Dean, I don’t care what you say, I haven’t seen you this happy in years. Maybe ever. And this week you’ve been a disaster. You need to stop pretending this isn’t happening.” He turns and looks to Cas. “Professor, I am not stupid enough to boss you around, but suffice to say I think there’s been some serious confusion on both sides and that if _someone_ were to try to clear that up it might help matters a fair bit.”

Seeming shocked by his own outburst, Sam walks over to his brother and grabs him by both shoulders. “Dean, you’ve been looking out for me my entire life; just this once, let me look out for you.” He picks his bag back up from the couch, heading for the door.  
  
“I’m going to Jessica’s, so you have all evening to figure out whatever this is. Oh and Dean, I can ‘manage my schedule’ just fine, for the record. Ya, I heard you complaining to Ellen.” Sam glares at him before continuing, now with a bold smirk spreading across his face. “I stopped joining you on purpose because you two are so fucking blind someone needed to start doing something. Don’t be an ass here, Dean.” And with that he walks out the door, closing it behind him. 

For a moment they both stand there, neither sure what to do next. It’s Cas who slowly walks over to the couch, tentatively, seeming to be checking with Dean that each step he takes is acceptable. Dean sits back down, and gestures to the other end of the couch. They’re now sitting on the couch just like they have been for months, except everything’s different. Everything. Dean looks away first, not sure what to do, and that’s when Cas clears his throat.

“Dean, I know you’re angry with me, but learning you’re not afraid…it’s caused me to dare to hope that I’ve misunderstood what happened last weekend. You don’t have to talk, I just need to explain myself to you for a minute. I think we need to clear some things up. Are you green to do that?” Cas looks up, scared but determined, and Dean feels his heart twinge when he remembers what he did. He just nods though, so Cas continues.

“Last weekend, when you touched my hair…. I thought you had finally decided to make a move, and I was… overwhelmed. I was excited and nervous and wanted you so badly. You were very conscientious and kept checking in with me, making sure I was alright. I… I wasn’t as well behaved. I was sure that was your first time with a man and I should have asked you more if you were ok, rather than rushing things along and putting you in a position where you felt so threatened. I never wanted to do that to you, and I feel sick thinking about what I did. I’m so, so sorry Dean.” Cas pauses to catch his breath, and Dean takes the opportunity to respond to this craziness.

“Cas, what? No, man, I, it was me who pressured you. You told me it was ok to touch your hair and next thing I’m tearing your clothes off and pressuring you to go further, and then after I couldn’t find a condom you went yellow and called it off. That’s on me, and I’m so sorry.” Cas looks at Dean with complete confusion etched on his face, head tilted slightly, as if he could figure out what’s happening if only he can remember how to translate Dean’s words.

“Dean,” he begins, slowly, clearly hesitating to put it into words. “I didn’t go yellow because you didn’t have a condom. I called yellow because after looking for one you had a full-blown panic attack and it was clear you weren’t alright to do anything that night. I was trying to give you space so you didn’t feel you had to keep going, but I don’t think I handled the situation very well.” 

“I…you…what?” Dean’s feeling his mind trying to grasp everything he’s hearing and he feels like he did when they were headed back from the conference. So much is happening so quickly, and it’s as if his gears are rusty and creaking along when all he wants is to shift into fourth and race ahead.

“That’s why I broke the rules and called Sam. Otherwise I never would have, but you weren’t answering your phone, and after seeing you have an attack like that… Dean I was so worried. I could handle an administrative reprimand, I could even handle you hating me forever, as long as I knew you were ok. I guess, ya, yellow really is the most complicated, isn’t it?” Cas is looking at the couch between them, avoiding Dean’s gaze, and Dean doesn’t know what to say. Finally Bobby’s advice surfaces, and he knows that if he’s ever had a shot with Cas it’s right now, and he’ll have to be at least partially honest up front.

“Cas, the reason… the reason I, reacted, the way I did when I couldn’t find a condom, is that, um, the last time I needed one, the last time I, y’know, was, um…” He takes the deepest breath of his life, and forces himself to say it. “It was the night my dad died.”

“Oh Dean,” the words tumble out like a prayer. Soft and sweet and so very loving. Cas slides down the couch and reaches out, pausing just at Dean’s personal space boundary. “Colour Dean?” And Dean nods, nods fiercely because he wants to feel Cas touch him, wants to be allowed that contact again. Despite everything that happened, when Cas touches him on the shoulder Dean feels safe, feels protected, and suddenly Dean sees just how messed up he was last week, starts to think that maybe Sam was right and this was just a misunderstanding.

He looks up into Cas’ face, eyes watering, and asks the only way he knows how. “Green?” Cas looks confused for a minute, since nothing has changed to require another checking. But then he sees it for the request it is, and slides closer, wrapping Dean up in both arms.

“Green.” He answers firmly, and it feels like home when Cas wraps Dean up completely, just like it did that first time he touched his neck. Cas starts running his hands up and down Dean’s back, holding him tight and trying to pour that comfort into him. “Green?” he asks back, trying to make sure Dean’s ok.

“Green, Cas. Green all the way.” Dean whispers it, ashamed at how stupid a start this was, how much confusion he caused, and so thankful to absorb any touch Cas will give him. Trembling, Dean makes the decision to leave his doubt, his fear, and his hesitation behind, even for just one minute. He looks up at the gorgeous face inches from him, and places a hand gently on his cheek. He leans in halfway, and then whispers.

“Cas, I need, I can’t... Green?” His hand is shaking where it’s resting on Cas’ face, terrified of the answer regardless what it may be. Every option scares him for different reasons, and he holds his breath waiting his reply.

“Green. Green, Dean. So green. And you?” Cas reaches a hand up as well, resting fingers on the back of Dean’s neck and pulling him forward.

“I’m, I’m green too. Huh. Awesome.” Dean chuckles through the tear that has spilled over, and then Cas’ lips are on his and they’re kissing. Dean lets his eyes fall shut and sighs into Cas, transported a million miles away and feeling overwhelmed and scared and safe and a thousand other things. Cas pulls him closer and the kissing slowly increases in intensity, while still being gentle and sweet. They kiss like this for a while, smiling whenever they break apart to catch their breath, little laughs sneaking between them.

After awhile Cas blushes furiously before looking down nervously. “Dean, I… I still want you. I want to touch you, to make love to you, to make you feel as good as you’ve made me feel. But I can wait for as long as you–”

“Green, Cas. I’m green if you are.” Dean’s beaming at him, still having trouble accepting that this is happening. He grins as he leans in again, but instead of a kiss Cas tilts his head and rests their brows together.

“I’m always green for you Dean. Have been all along.” And it’s that, the reassurance that he hadn’t hurt Cas last week, that’s the final chink in his armour to break, and Dean finally relaxes and lets himself enjoy this. He reaches out and offers Cas his hand, asking with his eyes how Cas feels.

“Green,” he hears as the man takes his hand and lets himself be led upstairs, this time without the reckless speed, but with no less passion as they make their way, kissing, touching, and slowly falling completely apart. When they reach Dean’s bedroom door Cas asks him again “Color?” hesitating in the doorframe.

Dean answers “Green, Cas,” while pulling him in, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him on to the bed. It was only a week ago that they were first here, and this already feels like something they’ve done a million times. He can’t explain it, but things with Cas have always felt more familiar than make sense, and this is no exception. They continue kissing and caressing on the bed. They’re lying like last time, Cas half on top of Dean, legs an intertwined mess, and they can feel each other harden as they explore more and more of each other. They continue writhing against each other, gasping and moaning as they feel the friction of rubbing against each other.

Soon shirts start getting peeled off, then the rest, and every new step one of them whispers ‘green?’ and the other whispers it back as he sighs into the next stage. Dean had never, ever thought he would find a color the sexiest thing in the world, but more so than a litany of “yes” or a string of curses these constant check-ins are turning him to mush. Being able to confirm any time he wants to that Cas wants him, and knowing that he himself wants this, that he’s letting himself want this, has him harder than he understands. He has never in his life felt as trusted, or as safe, as he does now, and he knows he’s ready. Really ready.

He rolls over to retrieve the bottle of lube and turns back to Cas. “Green?” he asks, eyes nervous but trusting, and lips half open in hope as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

Cas looks at him incredulous, then shakes his head. “Dean, we don’t have to do that. I’m happy just kissing you.” He runs a hand along Dean’s now bare side, looking at him adoringly and Dean can see the love there. It’s plain as day, how had he missed it all this time?

“I know. I know, Cas. Green though,” and he passes Cas the bottle of lube. Cas wraps his fingers around Dean’s purposefully as he takes the bottle, still grinning away, and kisses him fiercely. There’s the slightest edge to the kissing now, and while it’s still tender, it’s more intense, as if Dean just gave him permission to fully feel his arousal.

“Green, Dean.” Cas reciprocates. Dean leans back onto the pillows and then he hears the click. _This is actually happening. Holy shit_. He still can’t really process it, but suddenly Cas is there, sliding around his most intimate spot, and it’s incredible. He hadn’t thought he’d enjoy this so much, but Cas is making him feel so good and he never wants it to stop, even though they’re just beginning.

“Now, just relax.” Cas’ encouraging voice brings him back a little, but mostly he’s floating away, enjoying this totally new sensation, and trying to relax into it. He can feel Cas’ slicked fingertips tenderly rubbing him, taking him out of himself. And then he feels Cas’ finger slide in slightly, and he gasps aloud. He’s pushing against it, and his hand starts to rub his cock without his brain telling it to, because he needs to feel more. Now that he can, he needs to feel everything _. Now._

“Easy, Dean, easy. We can’t rush this.” He gently removes Dean’s hand, and Dean whimpers in protest. Cas leans forward to occupy Dean’s mouth otherwise, licking the lips and plunging his tongue in deeper, and then nibbling on his bottom lip. Dean’s wrecked. He knows he’s falling apart already but all he can think of is _more_. And suddenly he feels Cas slide in a second finger, as if he’s read his mind, and it’s divine. He moans in response, and then Cas takes him in hand and starts tugging in rhythm to his fingers, slowly working him apart from both ends, and it’s destroying Dean. He never in a million years thought this could feel so good, but he knows now that he wants this, wants Cas, forever. By the time he’s bucking his hips up into Cas he feels the third finger, and his breath catches audibly. Cas just keeps working him from both sides, and Dean’s vaguely aware that Cas has reduced him to a ragged mess already.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now Dean, how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Cas is speaking tenderly, but his fingers are maniacally driving Dean closer and closer. He can only moan in response, and then he feels Cas’ weight shift, kneeling between his legs. “Dean, are you sure? Colour?”

In response Dean reaches up and grabs Cas’ hips, guiding them towards himself, trying to tell Castiel yes, yes, yes over and over since he’s too busy whimpering to say anything out loud. He lines up and then looks at Dean again before moving. Dean’s completely useless but manages to mouth ‘green,’ even if no sound comes out. As Cas slowly slides in, Dean’s eyes fly open, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt. Cas is groaning as he inches in, carefully watching Dean to make sure he doesn’t hurt him. As he finally pushes his hips flush against Dean’s he pauses and they’re both gasping. Dean didn’t expect to like it this much, thought it would be good but weird, but all that’s gone, and he quickly realises he adores feeling Cas fill him like this. He squints slightly as Cas adjusts, which earns him a questioning gaze.

He grins and just replies “Green light, Cas,” and even he’s surprised by how breathy his voice sounds.

And then Cas pulls out slightly and pushes back in, and Dean’s gasping. He does it again and Dean starts panting and he doesn’t understand how he can feel so much all at once. Cas’ lips are dragging across his collarbone, his jawline, his chest. He shakes, bucking his chest into Cas’ mouth as much for the tongue that just flicked across his nipple as for the burning pool of fire he just felt explode deep inside.

“Oh, so right there then?” Cas asks, almost teasingly, and he pushes in again, and Dean hears a moan escape his throat, low and animalistic. He’s never made that noise before. In response Cas quickens his pace, thrusting faster and hitting that tender spot over and over again. He takes Dean in hand again, wrapping deft fingers around his length, stroking in time to his thrusts, and Dean can’t respond. Soon he doesn’t even bother trying; he just lies there soaking up all of Cas’ attention, letting the man reduce him to nothingness while transforming him into everything, and he’s gasping and moaning and clutching at Cas’ back as if he were drowning. He feels his stomach contract, feels the heat pooling, and knows he doesn’t have much longer. He’s honestly amazed he even lasted this long.

“Cas, Cas,” It’s all he can manage, but he’s sure he’s been understood. He feels like he’s going to explode, like this orgasm might actually kill him, and he doesn’t give a hot damn.

“I know Dean, me too. Do it, come with me.” And Dean lets go, relaxing into it and letting it wash over him as Cas continues, drawing every last bit of release from him. And then Cas slams into him so forcefully Dean cries out, and looks up to see Cas’ face contorted in complete ecstasy before he collapses onto Dean, shaking slightly, and placing gentle kisses on the shoulder he’s resting on. They’re both panting and Dean’s mind is completely blank, just wracked with orgasmic satisfaction to a degree he had never known, and he’s basking in it, completely content. It feels like he flew apart from both ends, and he’s never felt a release so intensely.

Cas slowly props himself up, and gently slides out of Dean, eliciting a soft whine from them both at the loss of contact. Cas shifts so he’s lying in the crook of Dean’s arm, head on his shoulder, an arm resting against Dean’s chest and a leg draped lazily over his. It’s so intimate and so casual at the same time. The rest like this until the sweat cools, until they’ve caught their breath and are lying in a content pile of satisfaction. 

“I can’t believe we waited so long to do that.” Dean offers as he starts to come back to himself. Dean can’t believe how lucky he feels. Why couldn’t he do this last week? Why didn’t he do this _months_ ago? He feels idiotic now for not being braver, for not being more observant, for not trusting Cas all along to of course be this amazing to him.

“Neither can I. I thought for sure you were about to burst after the conference.” Dean bolts upright, knocking Cas on his back, and stares down at him. _What did he just say?_          

“What the hell Cas? You knew? You’ve known this whole time since then?” He can’t believe it, all along? _This whole time he’s been going insane Cas knew?_ Dean glares down at him accusingly, though he’s met with a grin that makes him feel like he isn’t quite pulling of “authoritative” right now.

“I’ve known since we met. From the moment your brother thrust me into your path I’ve known you were it for me; it was you who figured it out after the conference. Since then I’ve been waiting, sitting a little closer, sharing more risqué things from work with you, trying to let you know that I was ready and willing as soon as you were.” He says it matter-of-factly, clearly unaware that he has just flipped Dean’s entire world upside down with three little sentences.

That is too much for Dean to process, especially since his brain is only just getting blood back. He latches onto the first thought that comes to mind, grasping for a familiar sensation. “Wait, ‘ever since Sam thrust you into my life?’ Sam didn’t do that, you were by yourself, and he just walked with you from class to that bar and, and…”

Suddenly he remembers Sam’s parting words. Even to Dean the situation now seems ridiculous. How had he not realised this? How had he not seen how obviously Sammy had set them up? How he couldn’t join them for dinner because a paper came up “unexpectedly”? Dean groans as he realises how thoroughly he’s been played by his baby brother, but then that frivolity vanishes as his fears overtake him.

_Oh god, Sammy_.

“Cas, my phone, I need my phone.” Dean feels his pulse quicken as his head spins and he tears around the bed, trying to find his cell. All the good feelings are fading into panic and concern as he tries to locate his phone.

“Dean, hey, it’s ok. Breathe. Check your pants pocket. What, what’s going on?” Cas is looking at him concerned, though Dean does not have the energy to calm him down right now. He finds his phone and with terror in his throat he checks the screen. Nothing. He opens it to confirm, and it’s still blank. No missed calls. No voicemails. No texts. Everything’s fine. Maybe? Maybe, somehow, it is fine? “Dean, seriously, are you alright?” Cas is cautiously running a finger down his arm, trying to reconnect, recapture the moment they were just having, or at least calm him down.

Dean laughs out loud and tosses his phone back onto the pile of clothes beside the bed. “Ya, Cas. Ya. I’m fucking amazing.” He knows it sounds sarcastic, but he means it, and hopefully Cas can sense the sincerity of his tone. Just then the rest of Cas’ comments come flooding back to him and he has to ask about those too.

“Wait, did you say you’ve known how you felt…” He barely dares follow up on this. What if he misunderstood Cas? What if he didn’t mean what Dean thought he did? What if–

“Since the moment I first looked into your eyes.” Dean gulps. How could Cas be so brazen about this, so up front? How could he be that brave? Dean takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

“Wait, so all this time, all along,” memories flood back seeming completely different now through this new lens, one in particular. “You son of a bitch. That goddamn poem. You’ve been doing this to me on purpose?!?”

Cas can barely conceal his smirk. “Ok, I’ll admit. That was….inconsiderate? of me.” He’s chuckling lightly, and Dean wants to throttle him. He can’t believe five minutes ago he thought this man was sweet or tender; he’s an evil mastermind. But he decides to deflect instead and place the blame squarely on Cas’ stunning shoulders.

“Ok, well, what did you mean about waiting for me to make a move? You could have done that yourself, you arrogant jerk. Could have saved us all this wasted time!” He pouts slightly, mourning how much time they’ve lost, mourning the waste.

“No Dean, I couldn’t have. I knew that you identify with traditional male archetypes, and that advances from a man would have made you feel threatened. I wanted you to care about me the way I cared about you, I wanted you to want me, not to feel like I was pressuring you into anything. Given how last week went I didn’t do that great a job, and I will never forgive myself for putting you through that.” Dean takes Cas’ hand and squeezes it once, trying to convey what he can’t make himself articulate. Cas squeezes back, and then continues. “I knew you weren’t ready, so I waited. Then I waited a bit longer. I’d wait as long as it took, Dean. You’re worth it.” He says it with a simple honesty, looking into Dean’s eyes with that intensity Dean’s so familiar with. He just never really understood it before now.

Dean looks back into Cas’ eyes, dreading any hint of mockery, of teasing. Nothing. _Just acceptance, and affection, and maybe, even… maybe_. So Dean does what he does best, and that’s stop talking. He slides back down, brings Cas back to him, and then gives him another gentle squeeze. Cas squeezes back three times in quick succession, like he needs to make sure Dean knows he means it. Dean’s never felt better. Sam’s ok. Sam’s ok and Cas wants him. It’s the nuttiest thing, but he’ll take it. Curled up like this, exhausted physically and mentally from this very unexpected end to the week, they quietly drift off in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! I didn’t mean to draw it out like this but during revisions Dean just went off on that panic attack without my permission and before I knew it there was an extra 4k of angst in there. Sorry team! So glad they finally are starting to figure their shit out though. Sigh, these two, I swear…


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, you guys are the best. I love you dorks <3

Dean wakes up at peace, feeling calmer than he has in years. When he feels his brain trying to ruin that he checks his phone to calm himself and there’s a message from Sam.

There’s a message from Sam. 

_No, no, no, please god no_. Terrified, Dean checks.

_> >I really hope you two worked out your thing. I’m doing dinner and a movie with Jess, and should be home by midnight. I owe you breakfast tomorrow morning._

Dean closes his eyes and counts to five. He opens them again and the message is still there. Sam’s fine. Sam’s completely fine and out with Jessica. Dean had let himself be with someone and Sam was still ok. A very, very tiny voice in his head, one that sounds shockingly gruff, starts whispering that maybe this was ok, and maybe he deserves good things. Dean rolls over to face Cas and for the first time in his life he doesn’t try to silence it, just lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could work. He checks his phone again, and seeing for the third time that Sam’s fine he wills himself to accept it. He also sees it’s well past dinner time, and thinks that maybe Cas might just be up for pizza and a movie tonight after all.

He leans over and kisses the resting lips before him, and feels them widen into a smile beneath his touch. He pulls back in time to see sleepy cobalt eyes sparkling back at him. “Hey,” he breathes, feeling his own smile drawing back his cheeks.

“Mmm. Hi.” Cas mumbles back, holding his smile a second longer before throwing his arms behind his head and making wildly inappropriate noises as he stretches. “God I’m famished, what time is it?”

Dean checks his phone again, and smiles even more broadly at the lack of any further notifications. He rolls back and faces Cas, arm resting on the bed in front of him, giving Cas the chance to not make contact if he doesn’t want to. “Late. Want to order a pizza and throw something on? Or do you need to go do something important for school or whatever?”

Cas’ smile vanishes and he reaches a hand out hesitantly, stopping just before Dean’s hand. “I don’t have anything else more important than this, than you, to steal me away. I would love to stay a bit longer. Or, honestly, a lot longer, if that’s alright. Green?” His face is so genuine, and Dean again can’t understand how up front he is about this all, especially after the nonsense they went through getting here.

He gulps and makes himself be brave. Moving his hand forward to hold Cas’, he looks him in the eyes and promises “Green.”

Cas beams back, eyes crinkling and gums showing. He pulls Dean’s hand to his lips and gently places the softest kiss on his knuckles, then holds the hand to his cheek, resting the back of it against his jawline. “You said something about pizza?”

Dean chuckles and the two of them go about getting dressed. They don’t stop touching though, always placing a hand here and there, brushing against each other, bumping into one another. After so much lost time neither is ready to feel the other’s absence again so soon. Eventually they make their way downstairs, and ordering pizza is made that much harder by Cas running his hands all over Dean as he tries to show him the menu and then place the call. At one point Dean audibly gasps while ordering which leaves Cas smirking proudly. One the one hand Dean hates him for it, but on the other he is so grateful for the constant contact, for the constant reassurance that this is happening, that this is good, and that Cas is still here.

They grab some beers and throw on Firefly, ending up on the couch and it’s almost like any other Friday. Except now they’re both at the same end of the couch. Except now Cas has an arm around Dean and Dean has a hand resting on Cas’ knee. Except somehow this just feels normal. The pizza eventually arrives and they eat while watching mostly in silence, though Dean notices Cas looking at him more often than usual. Finally he can’t shake it off any longer.

“Dude, what? Is there sauce on my chin or something?” He starts wiping at his mouth with a paper towel, even more self-conscious around Cas now that they’ve crossed that line.

Cas merely chuckles in reply, and then shakes his head slightly. Finally he smiles at Dean with one corner of his mouth higher, and Dean knows right then that he’s done for. “I was recalling you in a certain outfit. Do you still have those suspenders?” Dean damn near chokes on his beer. Cas pats his back gently, and then casually adds “Unless you’re red, Dean.”

It takes him a minute before he’s able to answer clearly and directly. “Is that….? Are you…? Um, is this seriously a thing?” Dean tries to remember to breathe while Cas just smirks back. He’s starting to find Cas’ chuckle more than a little concerning; it may in fact just be the death of him.

“It is, I am, and we don’t have to talk about it anymore tonight. Just, how should I put it? Testing the waters.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulder where his arm’s resting, and Dean nods back awkwardly, trying not to reveal how extremely interested he is in this development.

“I think we’ve tested enough waters tonight, man. Let’s just, um, maybe table that conversation.” 

“Noted.” Cas says it with that same teacher voice, the one Dean can’t help but listen to. The tone also promises that while tabled, Cas will certainly be bringing it up again at a later date, and Dean’s not sure whether this is the greatest thing ever or just too much to process along with everything else that’s happened today. 

They spend the rest of the evening smiling at each other, or bursting into grins for no reason. Kisses are constantly exchanged, sometimes sweet pecks on the cheek, some times sweeter kisses on the neck, and later lingering kisses on collarbones. Eventually even Dean doesn’t know what episode they’re watching anymore. Cas hasn’t let up, and after swimming in a fog of endorphins and bliss Dean lets himself be repositioned on Cas’ legs. He’s kneeling, sitting across his lap and gasping at Cas’ fingers holding his hips tight. Cas kisses him fiercely, lips devouring Dean, and Dean kisses back feverishly, desperate for the contact, for the reassurance that this is really happening, that last week is forgiven, that Cas actually wants him.

It’s no less passionate than earlier, but less hurried. There’s less a sense that this is their only chance, that they need to do this _now_ before everything falls apart. It’s an easy, comfortable make out session, and Dean thinks it may have been going on for hours but he really can’t tell. Eventually Cas pulls back and gently slides Dean away slightly. Dean responds and climbs off, standing back a foot and wondering what’s going on. This time it’s Cas who offers his hand to Dean, fingers outstretched and eyes hopeful. He checks in with a soft voice, one that’s almost shy, asking carefully, sweetly, “Green?”

Dean takes the proffered hand and nods adamantly, whispering the colour back to him as they return upstairs. Cas leads him to the bed before they even start taking their clothes off. They undress themselves while maintaining a steady gaze, eyes locked as much as possible, and Dean can’t help but feel that he’s stripping away more than his clothing under that inspection.

Once naked again they climb on the bed, lying side by side. Cas trails his fingers all over Dean’s skin, basking in the gasps and sighs that tumble unbidden from his lips at each new touch, each new area, and Dean just lets him. Dean finally lets go and lets this affection wash over him, inundating him in waves of love and trust. No one has ever touched him like this before. Cas manages to convey so much care, so much reverence, in every single action, and Dean’s already overwhelmed.

His favourite voice breaks through his thoughts as a finger gently wipes away a stray tear he hadn’t felt spill over. “Dean. Dean, are you alright? What’s your colour?” He feels strong hands cup his face and knows Cas is searching his face for an answer.

He forces himself to open his eyes and reply, though his voice comes out barely more than a whisper. “Green Cas. So green. Just…. Ya. Green.” It doesn’t convey the gratitude he means, it doesn’t capture the enormity of what he’s feeling right now, but it’s all he can manage, and Cas seems to understand that. His hands resume wandering, one holding him tight and the other snaking lower until he is between them.

“Still green?” He asks, cautiously waiting Dean’s reply. All he can manage is at this point is to nod, but he does so, and kisses Cas, trying to pour that conviction into the man’s heart and beg him for more, beg him to stay, beg him for everything.

Cas translates the request and takes them both in hand. Dean pulls back from the kiss for a moment to gasp at the new sensation, and then he’s on Cas again, lips crashing onto lips, tongue reaching out, searching desperately for more contact, more, more. Dean thought it had felt incredible feeling Cas touch him earlier, but feeling him touch them together, he’s going to lose his mind. Dean had seen this in porn before but had never really thought about the logistics of it, had just considered it another way to make a dick feel good. But now, now he’s melting apart under Cas’ touch and he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to last.

Cas must have caught their pre-come because his hand is slick. As it slides along them both Dean feels Cas’ knuckles grazing him up and down, he feels their lengths squeezed together, rubbing along every possible point of contact, and he feels the heat coming from Cas. The combination of it all is intoxicating, and soon he’s whimpering mess trembling in Cas’ arms. Cas, however, doesn’t let up for a second. He whispers in Dean’s ear, he kisses his neck, he tongues along his jaw line tickling the stubble. And Dean gets closer and closer. He knows Cas is close too, can feel his hand falter, and he places his own fingers atop Cas’ to try and offer what little encouragement he can this close.

Just a few thrusts later Cas cries out, and Dean can feel the cum sliding along their dicks, can feel the white-hot heat of it, and can feel Cas stuttering under his hand. He’s so close and he knows he’s about to join him when he hears Cas moan out his name in a guttural gasp and he just falls apart. He feels it tear through him, feels the release in his hand but it’s as if it’s been mined from the deepest parts of himself, from every extremity and cavern in his soul. Cas has come back enough to keep working him through it, and afterwards Dean collapses back, surprised to find he had arched off the bed.

Cas keeps working them until they’re too sensitive, still gasping himself from the continued sensation. Dean’s bones feel like they’ve been replaced with Jell-O and he just lies there, catching his breath and enjoying this feeling for the second time today. He can’t believe he’s this lucky. And that’s when he feels Cas roll away from him.

_Of course he’s leaving. Damnit you should have known better than to –_ but before his destructive thoughts get any further Cas is back carefully cleaning them up with a discarded tee and dusting tiny kisses along Dean’s arms and shoulders as he works. Dean suddenly realises he needs Cas to stay here, needs him to be there to remind him this is real, that this happened and is good. He also knows he could never ask that.

Yet again it seems Cas can see right through him, and he kisses Dean’s chest before looking up at him. “May I stay tonight?” He kisses Dean again, just above his nipple, and Dean wraps his arms around the man holding him safe.

All he can do is squeeze him tightly and nod. He makes himself whisper “green,” into that searching face, and is rewarded with a pleased smile. Cas lies down as before, nestled into Dean’s side with a leg draped over his, and lays a final kiss on Dean’s jaw.

“Good night Dean."

*          *          *

Dean doesn't hear Sam come home almost an hour later. He doesn't see him take in the trench coat near the door and start to smile. He doesn’t see him notice the two plates in the sink, or the flannel shirt forgotten discarded on the couch. And Dean definitely doesn't hear Sam mutter "Finally," while shaking his head before heading to bed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. In case you're still mad at me, have some more porn. With feels. Cause that's how I roll.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving all you messages and comments, thank you so much guys!!! I especially want to thank those of you commenting all along, you've encouraged me to keep going with this and I am so grateful for your enthusiasm and support <3

Dean wakes up smiling for what he’s sure is the first time in his life. He tries to remember why he’s so happy when he hears a slight moan and feels Cas shift beside him. _Holy shit_. That wasn’t some incredible dream; that really happened. Dean rubs his hand on the back of his neck, trying to process the fact that he fucked his best friend. Well, technically, Cas fucked him. Holy crap did he ever. Dean blushes at the memory of how hot that was, how passionate and intense it was. And then later, how sweet and intimate the next time had been. He still can’t really believe it happened despite the gorgeous evidence lying naked beside him in his bed. He checks his phone again just to be sure, and somehow, miraculously, there are still no notifications. He smiles, hardly daring to believe it.

Dean reaches a tentative hand forward and gently places it on Cas’ shoulder. He hears a soft inhale in response before Cas rolls over to face him, and his smile reaches all the way to those eyes that know Dean so well. “Mmmm. Morning.” Dean barely dares to believe he’s not about to bolt out of regret upon waking up in Dean’s bed.

“Um, hi. Morning. Um.” Cas reaches forward and cups his face with a gentle hand, calming Dean’s pounding chest and helping him to relax. He leans into the touch, remembering how attentive Cas was last night, and he blushes again. Goddamnit, he can’t blush every five seconds. This is so not gonna fly.

“I was worried it was a dream.” Cas murmurs through sleepy eyes, smiling a genuinely pleased smile, and that’s when Dean starts to believe it. Cas, this god, _Cas_ thought being with Dean had been a dream. Maybe he wasn’t going to run away from Dean after all.

“Honestly? Me too.” He snuggles up a little closer to Cas and rests a hand on his waist. Cas absent-mindedly runs his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone while cupping his face, and Dean finds himself leaning into it. “So, um, I guess that happened then.”

Cas chuckles, as if Dean must be particularly dense to miss the abundance of evidence in front of them. “Apparently,” he grins back, leaning forward and kissing Dean tenderly, sweet and chaste but with a promise in it of things to come, of more sleepy mornings. Dean’s head starts swimming and he gently pulls away.

“Come on, I’ll make breakfast.” And he forces himself to pull away, to get out of bed and hunt down clothes. He finds a pair of sleeper bottoms and Cas’ t-shirt near the bedroom door and turns to toss them to him. As soon as he sees Cas sitting up Dean starts laughing, and in response to Cas’ raised eyebrow he barely manages to answer “Dude, your hair. I mean, it’s usually screams sex-hair, but now? Good lord,” and he chuckles as he continues the hunt.

He finds himself some cleanish sleepers and his own t-shirt, but only gets on the pants before he feels nimble fingers wrap around his hips from behind, feels Cas press against him. He kisses Dean’s shoulders, then runs his hands up his sides and down his arms. Dean finds himself melting into the touch and turns his head to catch Cas’ mouth in a lazy kiss. They stand like this for a minute, for a year, and Dean feels the warmth wash over him. It’s not sexual, well, not exactly. It’s more…he’s not sure, he’s never felt this before. Finally, Cas releases him and winks before heading down the stairs. Dean slips his shirt on while he follows and throws on some coffee once they’re in the kitchen. They start moving around the room with a perfect rhythm as if they’ve done this hundreds of times, and he’s in awe of how easy it feels.

Dean is flipping pancakes while Cas stands behind him nuzzling into the back of his neck and trying his best to be a complete and utter distraction, when Dean hears Sam’s footsteps on the stairs. His first reaction is panic. Before he has time for another reaction he hears Sam reach the landing and enter the kitchen. Dean stares at the frying pan, waiting for Sam to go into the living room, to go to Jessica’s maybe, anything so that he can avoid this conversation.

Cas just stands there, hands on Dean’s hips, not helping one solitary bit. After thirty seconds it becomes painfully clear that Sam leaving isn’t going to happen, so Dean turns around slowly to face his enormous little brother, bracing himself for what will inevitably follow. Cas has moved over a bit but not actually stopped holding Dean, and Sam is staring at them, face unreadable. Dean is sure Cas missed the mark because if he had to bet, his brother is about to blow a gasket.

“Sam, I can explain.” Dean reaches one hand out, like he’s trying to calm a feral dog, but it has the pancake flipper in it so it ends up looking much more like he’s trying to perform some strange new type of kitchen fencing. To avoid it, Sam takes a step back and a deep breath.

“You can explain? What, why you’re canoodling over breakfast or why it took you two so damn long to make a move?” He looks serious, like he wants to know the answer to both, but more so the latter, and it’s too much. Dean can’t believe it. He just opens and closes his mouth several times while he tries to process this. It’s Cas who tears him back to reality.

“See? I told you.” Cas is smirking into his coffee mug, avoiding eye contact with both of them, but clearly enjoying this moment far too much.

“Hey! You. Don’t think I won’t kick your ass just cause of last night.” Cas looks amused, and Sam just sighs and shakes his head. Sammy looks at Cas as if to make some comment, but Dean can see him take in the fact that Cas is wearing Dean’s clothes. Sam closes his mouth, looks to Dean, then back at Cas.

“Good morning Sam.” Cas raises his coffee to him then returns to drinking it in silence. It’s a simple gesture, trying to help him feel more comfortable, but it’s a bit dismissive of the enormity of what Sam just walked in on, and everyone seems to register that at the same time.

“Morning Professor.” This is when Cas looks up from his mug. He looks Sam right in the eyes with that same piercing look, what Dean had started to think of as his personal look, and he can’t believe how it seems to bore through his brother.

“Sam, I’m sleeping with your brother. Why don’t you start calling me Castiel?”

Dean’s stomach hits the floor so hard he’s sure they both heard it. “Right, you!” And he brandishes the flipper at Cas, “You shut up, or they’ll be no encore. And you!” and he turns the flipper on Sam. “You also shut up, and get the eggs. I’m not making both your lazy butts breakfast.”

He returns to the pancakes, feeling like he may have actually come out ahead there. Sam passes him some eggs and then announces he’s going to go change. As soon as he’s out of the room Cas is behind Dean again, kissing the nape of this neck, pressing suggestively against one of Dean’s hips.

“So we’re ‘sleeping together,’ are we? Pretty confident about this being a regular thing, aren’t ya?” Dean tries to say it lightly because he’s never in his life initiated The Talk, but he’s not going to let an opening like that slide, not after so many months of uncertainty and confusion. He needs to know.

Cas pauses, but then resumes sliding his fingers over Dean’s arms, moves them down his chest until his arms are wrapped around Dean’s waist. “I am. And I’d rather call you my boyfriend, but I thought I ought to check before saying it out loud in front of your brother.”

Dean is so surprised he flips a pancake onto the stove. Cas gently turns him to face him, taking a step back, and places the pancake flipper down behind them. “Dean? Colour?”

Dean doesn’t know if he can do zero to sixty like this. He’s never… But Cas isn’t like anyone he’s ever known, and the way he makes him feel, not just last night, but even right now, and since they’ve met…it’s different. Even Dean, who avoids self-awareness like the plague, even he knows this is special. Knows he shouldn’t mess it up. But his insecurities get the better of him.

“Just like that?” He hears himself whisper, and suddenly the answer is terrifying.

“If by ‘just like that’ you mean finally consummating this after pining for one another for months and me trying to ensure you know I want to keep doing this forever, then yes. Just like that.” And then he’s smiling and kissing Dean and Dean’s wrapping his own arms around Cas and suddenly he has a boyfriend.

“Ugh, gross, get a room.” Sam mutters as he comes in and takes over flipping the pancakes, as if he’s walked in on them kissing a thousand times before and it’s the most natural thing in the world. And Dean smiles to realise it kind of is. Sam maybe knew more than Dean had given him credit for, and he can never properly thank him for making them figure this out yesterday, but like hell he’s going to let his little brother get away with an “I told you so” moment.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first week together, plus Dean decides it's time to come clean to Bobby and Ellen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok my goodness I'm loving your comments! Thank you so much to everyone who's been on this journey with me! Almost done!!!

Cas stays over all day Saturday, and then stays over Saturday night too. They spend the weekend in bed and in front of the tv, lounging, kissing, joking, and laughing. Cas seems determined to make up for lost time, both theirs and Dean’s alone, and can’t keep his hands off Dean. For his part Dean is blissed out and lighter than he’s ever felt. It’s like he’s a tipsy teenager drunk on touch and happiness. Cas touches him so carefully, and so often, with such tenderness and passion that Dean thinks by the end of the weekend he just might die of exhaustion and bliss. 

Sunday night Dean drives him home on his way to dinner at Bobby and Ellen’s. When he puts the car in park in front of Cas’ building they actually make out like teenagers until Dean realises how late he’s going to be and shoos Cas out. Thank god Sam had gone back to Jessica’s Saturday after breakfast to give them some time alone or he’d be here to witness this. Dean gets to dinner twenty minutes late, trying to play it off as no big deal and failing miserably.

“Well good day there sunshine, nice of you come back from the dead and join us.” He turns to see Ellen glaring at him through her sarcastic smile, and he knows instantly he is so screwed. Although the last time he saw her he was a miserable wreck and that was a week ago, so maybe she’ll give him a free pass. Maybe. It should help that he can barely keep his feet on the ground today.

“Good evening Ellen, don’t you look lovely” he coos, and she slaps him with a dish towel while still glaring. Dean is relieved to see her face soften slightly, and realises with a sharp pang of guilt that after his display at their place Saturday and then calling in sick all week he must have worried them sick showing up late tonight. He decides to make a point to apologize properly later.

He starts walking towards the fridge to grab a beer when he hears the scratchy rumble of Bobby from around the corner. “That idjit show up yet?” His voice is unreadable, and Dean can’t tell if he’s annoyed or worried or what.

Ellen just smirks as she hollers back “Just in. Shall we see what brilliant excuse he’s concocted?” She stands there staring Dean down, and he decides to play hard-ball.

“Ellen, that’s not fair, you know I never take time off and I work harder than anyone else at the shop–” But she cuts him off with a simple wave, and he waits till Bobby rounds the corner before continuing.

“Now, you want to tell us what the hell made you think you could take the whole week off?” Dean looks from one to the other, at these people who took them in, who have loved them as their own, and he knows he can’t lie to them. Besides, he’s pretty sure Bobby’s already figured it out and has respected his privacy enough to not tell Ellen. That was something that always struck a chord with Dean, that he didn’t have to worry about spouse rules or whatever; when he talked to either of them they kept it to themselves. He wasn’t likely to spill anyways, but if he knew they’d talk about it behind his back there’s not a hope in hell he’d ever tell them a damn thing. Except right now that’s biting him in the ass.

“I,” He exhales heavily, bracing for what’s next. _Man this is going to suck_. “I was with somebody last weekend and there was a misunderstanding. It was a, well, a serious problem.” Seeing their concerned faces darken he had to assuage them. “It’s all resolved now, it’s um, fine, actually, but I thought I had freaking gone Oppenheimer there for a while, and I just, I couldn’t, I couldn’t… I’m sorry.” He ends softly and stares at his boots, back straight and hands behind his back, waiting for the inevitable blow back.

Instead he feels weathered hands on his forearm. He looks up to see Ellen standing beside him, towel now draped over her shoulder and eyes searching his face as if looking for an injury. “You’re sure you’re ok now, honey?” She cups his face in her hand and he thinks for just a moment that he might finally understand how much this woman cares for him, how much she’s always loved him. _Damn, Cas really put some stuff in perspective._ Behind her questioning face he sees Bobby, gruff visage nearly unreadable but his eyes asking the same thing, heavy with the additional knowledge that Dean had shared with him. These people are his family He owes them an apology at least. 

“I am, ya, really. I’m sorry to worry you guys like that. Just, old habits and all. I promise, things are actually great now.” He purses his lips and raises his eyebrows, trying to will himself to go through with this. “I actually was late cause I was dropping someone off at home.”

He sees Bobby crack a grin, and nod in pleased approval. Ellen, however, has none of the backstory and apparently doesn’t much think of that as an excuse. Or, at least, she wants to make it feel as normal as possible again as quickly as possible, Dean can’t really tell. “Boy, I am happy for you, don’t think I ain’t, but I asked what was important enough to be late to dinner for, and no matter how short her skirt was, some piece of tail is not the right answer.”

Dean considers his options. He considers how he could deflect and be vague and avoid pronouns, but Sammy already knows and that was the scariest part, so he takes a deep breath and decides to go for broke. Besides, he’s pretty sure Bobby noticed the lack of pronouns during their talk, and Sam’s in the other room setting the table so Dean probably wouldn’t be able to pull that off for more than five minutes even if he tried.

Dean speaks quietly, but clearly, making sure they hear every word. “He’s not a piece of tail.” He dares to look up, and sees the two of them exchanging weighty glances before returning to him. He risks going on. “His name is Castiel, and he’s…well…. He’s my…boyfriend.” He’s never used the word before, and it feels foreign in his mouth, but before he can stop himself he feels a grin spread across his face.

Ellen takes his other forearm in hand and looks at him with a sad smile. “Honey, is this who you’ve been mooning over for months?” _How could she have known?_ She didn’t, she couldn’t have. She’s just being overly protective, and Dean feels himself getting defensive, particularly since she’s right.

“I haven’t been mooning!” He shouts, and she looks at him with patient condescension and a raised brow. He looks to Bobby for help but realises that he’s got the same look on too. Plus Bobby _knows_ that they’re right. _Goddamn them both._ “Son of a bitch. Whatever. Yes. Can we please eat now?”

But Ellen’s pulling him towards her in a tight hug, and she just runs a hand over the back of his head. “Oh Dean, we’re so happy for you. He must be really special.” And Dean can’t believe that apparently everyone in his life knew about this before he did. But it’s so liberating to not hide anything anymore, and he’s pretty sure that makes up for it.

Bobby clears his throat and it pulls Ellen back, causing her to finally release Dean. He looks to Bobby, who nods once curtly. “Yeah, what she said. Glad it worked out, son.” He says it evenly, but Dean can see the joy beneath his gruff façade, knows how huge an influence he has been in this. “Bring him around for dinner sometime. Now stop being such a lazy ass and go help your brother,” gesturing to the dining room and heads out that way. Ellen smiles one last time at him and then turns to the oven to grab dinner before following Bobby out.

_Huh_. _Well, that went pretty well_ , he thinks to himself, grabbing a salad to bring out and feeling his lips smiling involuntarily again. He could get used to this.

*          *          *

The week passes in a blur. Dean knows he met up with Cas Tuesday and Thursday like usual, and he knows he went to work, but what in particular anyone said or what he did he couldn’t tell you. He just goes through it in a fog not registering his days, or meals, or cars he worked on. What he does remember are tiny moments, like when Bobby patted him on the back Monday morning when he got to work or how Cas sat closer Tuesday when they met up and kept brushing their legs together while they chatted. He remembers the way Sam made him dinner Wednesday night, just a simple bowl of pasta with jarred tomato sauce, and how hard he had smiled at his big brother to see him that happy. He remembers the way Ellen brought a coffee out to the shop for him and kept her hand on the mug a second longer than necessary after passing it over, smiling at him and radiating something Dean thought might even be pride. He remembers that the last thing he did every night was send a goodnight text to Cas and get one in return. Mostly the week has passed in a content daze, but those particular moments, he knows even as they happen that those are special, and that those will be memories that he’ll associate with this bizarre family of his for the rest of his life.

Friday Cas comes over as usual, but they don’t even bother putting on a movie. Sam said he’d be home a bit late but would pick up dinner, so Cas and Dean are on the couch chatting, hands gently caressing each other, occasionally kissing. It’s so intimate, so comfortable, Dean’s still reeling that this is normal now. That he’s allowed to do this. That he’s Cas’ boyfriend. The word still generates a dumb smile, even though it’s been a week since he first used it.

He hears Sam open the door, and for a second he’s still self-conscious about being like this with Cas, with San’s teacher and a man at that. But then his big brother mode activates and he decides to mess with Sammy. He winks at Cas, and then climbs onto his lap and leans in to kiss him. Even though it’s only to mess with his brother it’s still incredible. He can feel Cas drawing him in, pushing his hot tongue against Dean’s teeth, requesting access. Cas cups his face, strong fingers holding Dean close. He can sense that they could be miles away in a second, and he still can’t believe he gets to do this now whenever he wants, even for something as trivial as messing with Sammy.

“Ugh, gross, can you two not do that in your room?” Sam shakes his head in brotherly disapproval, and Dean’s about to counter with a smart-ass remark, when Cas escalates the situation.

“Sam, go to your room or I’ll flunk you,” Dean’s grinning so hard he thinks he’s about to sprain his cheeks. Cas looks like he is honestly considering flunking his best student; he has fully adopted his teacher persona, despite having a flushed dude in his lap.

Sam looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. “Castiel, you can’t do that! It’s totally unpro-”

“You heard Professor Novak, Sam.” Dean interrupts him, and under Dean’s smirk and Cas’ grown-up face Sam eventually caves.

“Ugh!” He shouts, storming off. He stomps up the stairs to sulk and they burst into giggles.

“That was amazing! You’re such a hard ass!” Dean beams at this man, still unsure how he got this lucky. How on earth he could want Dean? He pointedly refuses to acknowledge how he responds to Cas’ authoritative voice and persona, but he’s pretty sure that Cas picked up on it, what with their current proximity and all.

“Oh Dean, you have no idea.” Gulp. Jesus Cas knows how to push his buttons. Searching for something non-sexual to grasp for sanity, Dean suddenly gets a whiff of the Chinese food Sam picked up. And he realises that Sam took it upstairs in protest. _Son of a bitch_.

“Sam has our dinner hostage,” Dean pouts. He nods towards the stairs, sighing, and starts to climb off Cas. Cas whimpers in protest, and draws Dean back into another kiss. Dean can feel his stomach tingling, and he knows it has nothing to do with hunger. He finally manages to force himself to tear free and climb off Cas’ lap. It’s unfair how hard that was, and how hard he is. _Damnit_. He bounds up the stairs, knocks on Sam’s open door, then lets himself in to steal the food.

“Dean, come on!” Sam protests pointlessly; he hasn’t even stirred from the bed where he’s texting, but it’s the law to complain any time a sibling enters your room.

“You come on. Stop talking to Jess and come downstairs for Chinese and a movie.” Seeing Sam’s scowl he adds “We promise to keep it PG-13.” Sam just shakes his head, and Dean’s confused. “Sam, what’s up? You going all junior-high on me about this? Wasn’t it your genius scheme anyway?” And he gestures down the stairs with his thumb casually, like he’s not talking about the most intense feeling he’s ever experienced.

Sam inspects Dean before sighing, clearly bracing himself for resistance. “Dean, just, shut up and listen for a minute. No, I am not going all ‘junior-high on you’,” he spits out the words with substantial condescension. “I’ve never seen you this happy and I smile every time I think about you two finally being together. But he is my teacher, so that’s something we all need to remember. Plus, it’ll take some getting used to, you with someone. I mean, I’ve never seen you in a relationship, and I don’t think you’ve even hooked up with someone since Dad died.”

Dean’s eyes open a bit but he tries to be as non-responsive as possible. Sam, however, sees right through that for the bull it is and barrels on. “Oh come on, don’t try to deny it, I’m not that oblivious, Dean. And now, it’s with a guy at that. No, it’s not that, I don’t care, it’s just so different for you, and it’s taking me a bit to get used to, ok? I am happy for you. Honest. I was actually texting Jess about how cute you two were just now, already in cahoots against me. It’s sweet. But it is really different than our old ways, and that’s kinda hard. So just give me a bit of time to adjust, k?”

“Alright.” Dean answers. He doesn’t think there’s really need for much else, but when Sammy does rise to come downstairs he pulls him in and holds his brother close, letting him know he heard him, saying the things he would never dare articulate aloud. Sam’s smile as they pull apart tells him that he’s been heard loud and clear. “Come on,” and they turn round to head back downstairs.

When they return Cas looks at Dean quickly to ensure everything’s fine, and Dean nods once, hoping to avoid Sam’s notice. As they plate their food and return to the living room he realises that he wasn’t particularly happy about Jess in the beginning. Now that he thinks about it, even though she got on his good side right away he still took months to stop sulking about it ( _not that Dean Winchester ever sulks_ ). Sam’s had one week to get used to this, maybe he should lay off a little. Thinking about Jess Dean remembers a conversation earlier this week with Bobby and Ellen about dinner. Right. Blur.

“Oh ya, um, Sam, call Jess and let her know Sunday night we’re doing dinner at Ellen and Bobby’s. You too, Cas.” Sam and Cas both pause mid-mouthful and stare at Dean, willing him to understand he can’t just say something like that without elaborating. He wilfully ignores them and shoves an entire eggroll in his mouth to avoid follow-up questions.

“Dean, I need to study Sunday. You need to give me more notice about something like this. Plus what if she already has plans?” Sam says it as if that’s the only thing he’s surprised about, but Dean knows it’s the family intrusion. Sam’s just going to have to get used to it; he’s not letting Cas slip away.

“Dean, I also was going to study Sunday night.” Cas offers the resistance meekly, hesitant to deny him this. He looks down at his food, and asks Dean with what sounds like trepidation, “How do they even know about me?” Dean looks over at him and he’s so nervous. He wishes he could check in, but that’d be a bit awkward in front of his brother. He knows he has to fix it though, somehow. Then he remembers he’s allowed to touch Cas now, and he reaches over, placing a hand gently on his upper arm.

“When I was late for dinner last Sunday they busted me, and I told them about us, and they want to meet you.” Dean says this as normally as possible, trying not to freak Cas out. Cas is looking lost, and it’s Sam who comes to his rescue.

“Dean, you guys have been together seven days. It’s pretty unfair to make him meet the parents already.” The words slap Dean across the face in a way he can’t explain, but he shoots Sam down hard just the same.

“Sam, Bobby and Ellen aren’t –” But Sam cuts him off with a tilt of his head.

“They might as well be Dean, and you know it. This is a lot of pressure to put Castiel under, cut the guy a break.” He gestures to Cas but keeps eye contact with Dean, trying to make him understand. Dean’s worried this might escalate, and it was just supposed to be a stupid dinner, damn it. Cas has been sitting in silence, reflecting on the conversation.

Dean can’t take it anymore and casts his eyes about looking for help. Finally he holds up a yellowy-orange sauce packet and looks directly at Cas, hoping this will work. “Cas, hey, don’t worry about it. Do you want some sweet’n’sour, or should I go make you some salad?” He keeps his arm extended, willing Cas to read into the question and understand that he’s trying to give him an out.

To both Sam and Dean’s immense surprise he speaks up, quietly but firmly. “I don’t need any sauce, thank you Dean. If they are like family to you I would be honoured to meet them. What can I bring?” He’s clearly still nervous, but he nods at Dean as he takes the sauce packet from him and puts it on the table, making it clear he understood the code but doesn’t need to use it to back out. Dean nods back, throat clenching as he thinks again about how lucky he is.

Dean notices that Cas hasn’t pushed Sam’s version of them being their parents, that’s he’s adopted the more neutral term of family. Dean doesn’t know how to explain why he can’t think of them as his parents, but he doesn’t have to right now. He’s brought back as Sam exhales, clearly incredulous. “Dean, I don’t know how you pulled this off, but don’t you dare scare him away.”

Dean smiles sarcastically and glowers at Sam, suddenly remembering Ellen’s face Sunday and conceding that ya, ok, she maybe has rubbed off on them a bit. “Thanks for the vote of confidence Sammy. Cas, nothing, I’ll take care of everything. Do you want me to pick you up at 5, or do you just want to, uh…” The question dies on his lips, realising how presumptuous he must sound.

“We can play that by ear Dean. But if I stay over again then I’m fine doing my reading here before heading over Sunday. Maybe we could even go for a walk in the woods nearby.” _Woods are green,_ Dean’s mind offers helpfully _._ Cas beams at Dean, confirming that he can make assumptions like that now, that Cas won’t get upset by them. Confirms that Cas intends to spend a fair amount of time with him from now on.

“Well, alright then.” And Dean picks out an action movie to put on before anyone else can make the evening emotional or touchy-feely again, and hides in the safety of distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So get this: I learned the dumbest thing the other day about Cas' shoulders and I made a post about it [here](http://petrichoramber.tumblr.com/post/149716507379/ok-oh-my-god-i-just-learned-the-dumbest-thing-get) but if you like stupid history and random etymology then I suggest you come find out about the God of Farts.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their second weekend together, and meeting the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness! What a ride! Thank you to everyone for reading along, leaving me comments, and sending me messages. You guys are the sweetest and have made this such an amazing experience! There's still an epilogue to come, but this is the last plot chapter, so here we go!
> 
> TW: discussion of past physical abuse (not graphic)

The next morning Cas wakes him up in the most delicious way possible. Dean’s still asleep when he starts having the best dream ever, and as he starts to wake up he moans, disappointed that it has to end. Then he’s forced to realize that’s not why he moaned, and that the dream is far from over. Cas is between his legs, gently licking up and down his shaft. He was already half-hard from the fact that it’s morning, and Cas’ nimble tongue is quickly taking him the rest of the way. Once he’s there Cas catches his eye, smiles, and then lowers his mouth over Dean’s whole length.

He gasps in surprise as Cas takes him in all the way. As he continues to work Dean he’s still smiling, using his right hand to further his task. Dean’s breath shortens and he thrusts up into Cas’ mouth, slowly but hungrily, desperately. He starts to moan again but Cas reaches up his left hand and covers Dean’s mouth, removing his lips from his task for a moment to warn, “Your brother will hear,” before returning with even more enthusiasm. _To hell with my brother_ , thinks Dean, but when he opens his mouth to moan again Cas squeezes his lips tightly, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to get his attention, and pushes gently against Dean’s mouth, warning him again to be quiet.

Dean wants to protest, wants to moan and gasp and scream, but the thought that Cas won’t let him turns him on more than he understands and he just wants to be good, to do what Cas says. Cas takes him in fully again, rewarding Dean’s quick learning, and constricts his throat around Dean’s length. Dean feels a moan rising that he knows he’ll be unable to supress so instead he clamps his mouth tight around his own fist and grabs on to Cas’ free arm where it’s resting on his chest on its way to his mouth. He grasps tightly and says with his fingers what he can’t with this lips, and Cas escalates, going faster, and faster, and Dean keeps squeezing, vaguely aware that he’s probably bruising Cas’ arm but unable to stop as he feels himself getting closer. Cas mumbles an “uh huh” sound, encouraging Dean to let go, and the vibrations from his mouth send him over the edge. He doesn’t even have time to warn Cas before he’s bucking into him, convulsing, and Cas keeps sucking, drawing every last drop of orgasm out of him.

Dean finally rests his hips back on the bed, trembling slightly, and tries to force his fingers to let go of Cas’ arm. He sees bright red lines there, but when he starts to apologize Cas leans down and kisses him, effectively cutting off his words. He can taste himself in Cas’ mouth, and it feels so good, and so intimate. _How has this only been one week?_ Cas lessens the intensity of the kiss, slowing it down until finally he breaks away, grins down at Dean, and chirps “Good morning” with the biggest smile Dean’s ever seen on that face.

Dean chortles in response. “I’ll say!” He’s still dizzy and trying to get his breath back as Cas snuggles up against him, one arm and one leg casually draped over him. “Don’t spoil me, I could get used to this.” And he places a lazy kiss on Cas’ head.

“I couldn’t possibly spoil you Dean. You have no idea all you deserve.” Dean chuckles in self-defence, unwilling to deal with that can of worms this morning. One day, probably soon, he’ll have to explain to Cas that he doesn’t deserve anything near what Cas gives him, but that can wait. This morning is too perfect to ruin with baggage.

Once he’s calmed down enough to maybe be able to walk, he realises how hungry he is, and realises Cas must be starving too. “Come on, let’s see what we can rustle up for breakfast.” And he slides out of bed, legs still a bit rubbery, trying to understand how Cas thinks he could possibly deserve this.

*          *          *

They return upstairs full of coffee and pancakes thanks to Sam, who’s still trapped in Dean’s bullshit deal despite not having class Thursday nights this term. Once there they collapse on the bed all hands and kisses, limbs interlocked and faces inches apart. Dean remembers how they fell like this at the conference, how they had maybe almost kissed, except he was too blind to see that was his chance. He can’t believe how far they’ve come since then, how close they’ve gotten and how safe he feels around Cas. They smile at each other, content and knowing they need no words to experience this connection they’ve put off for far too long. But then Dean notices Cas’ arm, and it looks bad. Like, really bad. “Cas, Jesus man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I was just…I’m so sorry.”

Cas smiles at him and waves his hand dismissively. “Dean it’s fine. It was really hot feeling you react like that. I loved it. If it was a problem I’d have called red. Besides, I don’t mind, it’s kinda like a hickie.” He nuzzles against Dean, trying to make him see, but he can feel Dean’s whole body stiffen beside him.

“Cas.” The word’s less than a whisper, and Cas barely hears it. Dean takes a very deep breath, and exhales slowly. “I…I never want to hurt you.” Dean doesn’t want to elaborate, can’t explain why he feels so guilty over a glorified arm hickey. But Cas props himself up on one arm and looks him square in the eyes.

“Dean, you won’t. And if you do something I don’t like, I will use the stop-light system. Though I won’t bother with code, since we’re alone.” He adds the last bit with a bit of grin, trying to keep it light. “Besides, I trust you.” Dean sighs again, how could Cas possible know?

“Cas, I need…I need to tell you something. I’ve never told anybody about this, but, well, I trust you, completely, and after our conversation at your conference, I kinda think you might understand. Besides, it’s not fair to let you keep thinking that I… That I’m not…” He trails off, unable to finish.

Cas sits up, positioning himself at a right angle beside Dean, cross-legged, but still touching him. Dean props himself up against the headboard, and stares at his lap where his hands are nervously fiddling. Cas reaches for them, rests a hand on top stilling them, and Dean knows he has to tell him if there is any chance of this lasting.

“When we were kids, I was four, and Sammy was just a baby, my dad went out one night. No big deal, just went out for beers with Jo’s dad to talk shit and get drunk. Mom and Sammy and me, we were over at Ellen’s, hell she was still pregnant, Jo wasn’t even born yet.” He smiles for a second, trying to hold onto this moment, this brief illusion of family happiness before everything shattered. He shakes his head once and continues. “They were supposed to take a cab home, but they spent all their fare on more booze, so they called Ellen for a ride in the middle of the night. Mom wouldn’t hear of it, said Ellen was too far along to be driving drunk idiots home, and she’d go, no problem. Ellen offered to watch us while mom went to get them.”

He’s fiddling with the bedspread now, even though Cas’ hand is still on top of his. He’s never told this story, the whole story, to anyone. Sam learned most of it in bits and pieces, Bobby too, but even they don’t know it all, and there’s never been anyone else to tell.

“She was almost home when the semi ran a red light. Drove into the driver’s side and completely crushed the car. Jo’s dad was sitting behind her, and the two of them died instantly. Dad was in the front seat; got real banged up but was basically fine.” Dean focuses on breathing, on making his lungs move air in and out. “He stumbled the rest of the way to Ellen’s place and barged in covered in blood and screaming and it took forever to realise what he was actually saying. I –” _Deep breath_. “I was at the top of the stairs, I heard everything. I’m not sure at what point I understood that she was never coming home again, but it was a long time before anyone came upstairs to actually tell me.” He blinks, trying to force the tears back from his eyes, but when that fails he looks up and to the side, avoiding Cas’ gaze, and wipes them away. Cas thankfully pretends he doesn’t see.

“Ellen never forgave him. Ever. I mean, she loves Bobby and they’re happy, and he treats Jo as if she were his own, but…Ellen always considered it my dad’s fault that her husband was gone. And that mom was gone. Honestly, I blamed him too. After that, he just fell apart. Stopped everything else he had been doing, stop even going to re-enactments. He compulsively rebuilt the whole Impala, said it was all he had left of her and he needed to take care of it.” Dean snorts, realising how insane this sounds coming from her own son.

“He seemed to have missed a few details there. Anyway, when he was done we left Lawrence, driving round from job to job, living out of motel rooms. Sometimes he’d be gone for days, weeks at a time. And I took care of Sammy. We’ve eaten dinner together since I can remember, that’s why I went full on Mommy Dearest about it in the fall.” It’s getting to the worst part, that part he needs to explain to Cas, needs him to understand. He takes another deep breath.

“This went on for years. I’d cook and help him with school and…deal with dad. So he didn’t have to.” He shivers involuntarily, remembering all the times he said it was his fault, all the times he deflected John’s attention from his brother. Cas squeezes his hand, letting him know he understands. “When I turned sixteen I took Sammy and the Impala and drove all night till we reached Bobby and Ellen’s. They took us in, helped me out with a job at the shop. Sam went to school, to a single school, and it was good. But when Dad got home.” He twitches and smiles ruefully, and he knows Cas knows. Dean can’t finish the sentence, can’t say it out loud, but he doesn’t have to, so he just looks down.

“Anyway, one night a few years later he was out drinking and drove home from a bar. He called for a ride, but I was with someone, didn’t answer my phone, so he just left. And he wrapped the car around a power pole. It’s my fault, Cas. It’s on me that he never made it home. He ruined so many lives, and for years I’ve let him continue to ruin mine.” He takes a deep breath, says the last thing he has to. He needs to make him understand. “Cas I can’t ever hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I did. I refuse to be like that. To be like him.”

Cas doesn’t say a word, just slides up even closer to Dean, sits behind him placing his legs on either side, and pulls him in tight. Dean grabs hold of this man who somehow can accept him even though he’s this broken, and melts into his embrace, sobbing quietly.

Once Dean’s calmed down a little, Cas whispers into his ear, stroking his hair with one hand while the other arm wraps around him tightly. “Your father’s choices are not your responsibility Dean. It doesn’t matter that you were busy. He was a grown man and he should have thought of the other options, better alternatives than burdening his teenage son with the pressure of his irresponsibility.” He keeps holding him tight and continues speaking softly.

“Dean, do you want to know why I study Roman oratory, and not military history? Why I read Catullus and Cicero instead of Caesar and the rest? Because I can’t read about men fighting men. I already know enough about violence to last me a lifetime, and I don’t want to devote my life to that, not like he…” He takes a huge breath, makes himself say it. “Not like my father did. But men who stand up against men like that, men who use their words and their minds to bring down those who use their swords? That’s worth it. That is why I go to school every day.” And suddenly it all makes sense, and Dean understands, and he knows he’s safe in this man’s arms, and that if anyone could ever understand him, it’s Castiel. Oblivious to Dean’s dawning comprehension, Cas continues.

“That’s why you can’t think of them as your parents, isn’t it? Sure, Bobby’s a father figure, there’s no competition there. But Ellen. You think that thinking of her as your mom would belittle your own mother’s memory. Replace her somehow in your heart.” It’s not a question, and they both know Cas knows. “It’s not like that Dean. Love’s additive, you can increase your family without diminishing the role of the people who have gone before. Ellen loving Bobby is proof of that. It’s ok to love them. It doesn’t mean you love her any less.” The whole time he’s murmuring these words to Dean he’s holding him tight, gently tracing his fingers on his skin and through his hair, showing him how much he cares, how much he wants to help make it better.

At the end of his speech Dean crumples completely and collapses into Cas. He could never have explained it like that, but that’s exactly why he never refers to them as “basically their parents.” _Because he can’t do that to his mom_. But Cas just explained to him that it doesn’t have to be all or nothing, that he could love them in addition to her. The sense of permission he feels in his soul is so profound he doesn’t even know how to process it. For now he just weeps into Cas’ arms until he’s dry, and then they slide down and drift off into a nap together, sleeping off the turmoil and the pain.

*          *          *

Cas does end up staying all weekend. They go back to his place Sunday so he can study and change for dinner, and Dean sits in his arm chair reading Vonnegut while Cas goes about his business. When it’s time to head over they make their way to the Impala, maybe stopping to kiss in the stairwell along the way. They swing by the house to pick up Sam and then head over. When they pull up at the house Sam lets himself out and gets a head start, leaving the two of them alone. Cas reaches over and squeezes Dean’s hand. “Ready?”

Dean squeezes back. “As I’ll ever be. You?”

“About the same? I haven’t been this nervous since the conference.” Cas blushes as Dean tugs on his hand and kisses him quickly in a reassuring manner.

“You’re going to be great. They already know how much I like you, so don’t worry about it.” He blushes himself now, embarrassed at being so honest.

“Oh you like me, do you?” Cas teases, running a thumb along Dean’s jaw.

“Oh shut up!” Dean jokes back, swatting his hand away and leaning in for a quick kiss. “Besides, you’ve liked me longer, so, ya! Take that.” As they get out of the car Cas looks at him incredulous that Dean seems to genuinely believe he’s won, and then takes his hand and walks him up to the door.

Dean is nervous as they walk through the door, but seeing the familiar chaos of Bobby's books everywhere and smelling the bright smell of Ellen's tomato sauce he knows he's home; he knows he can do this. Sam’s just finished hugging Ellen hello when Dean wall's up and introduces Castiel. “Bobby, Ellen, this is, um, this is my, uh, Castiel.” He stumbles a bit, and Cas squeezes his hand to let him know it’s ok.

“It’s an honour to meet Dean’s family, I’ve heard so much about you.” Castiel offers his hand, which Bobby shakes. Ellen grasps it firmly while giving him a peck on the cheek, and Dean interrupts the formalities with a flippancy that shocks even himself.

“Well, they’re basically our parents, so it just made sense, y’know?” And Cas looks at him, overwhelmed that Dean has been able to say it out loud, and Sam is staring at Dean like he’s just announced that he’s going to go find the Loch Ness monster. Ellen looks from Sam to Dean, taking in what just happened. She examines Castiel, then turns back to Dean.

“Dean. You have not once in your whole life called us that.” Ellen’s staring at him, appraisingly, critically, as if he’s a man possessed and she’s about to test for body-snatchers. Dean suddenly realises how acutely Ellen’s been aware that he’s never said it. That despite the care packages she mailed while they were on the road with John, despite teaching him to cook as a kid, taking him in at 16, and everything she’s done for him, he’s never properly thanked her. And he suddenly feels a crushing guilt for being so wrapped up in his own shit he couldn’t see how much he was hurting this woman who has only ever shown him love. He looks down at the ground, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

“Well then it’s about damn time I said it, isn’t it?” He feels the guilt twisting in his gut start to uncoil, and he knows it’s going to take more than this to ease it. But he’ll make it right now that he knows it was broken. Ellen grabs Cas and squeezes him tight in a vice of a hug.

“Son, I don’t know what you’re doing to that boy, but keep it up,” she whispers in his ear. Cas tentatively pats her on the back, not sure how to handle this kind of affection and intimacy from someone he’s only just been introduced to. Thankfully Dean interrupts pointedly.

“Right, Ellen, cut it out. Cas and I are going to go grab some lemonade.” Ellen releases him and begins to open her mouth to question his sanity. “Shut up!” He adds, as she stares at him dumbfounded. He grabs Cas’ hand and drags him into the kitchen.

“Dean what did I do wrong, I thought –” Dean cuts him off with a passionate kiss, longer than a peck, but not long enough.

“You weren’t being awkward Cas, she was, but I don’t have a secret code with her, now do I?” And he’s smirking again and leaning in for another kiss.

Dean feels Cas wrap his arms around his shoulders, and he can’t believe how happy he feels. He can’t stop smiling, his chest actually aches with joy, and his pulse quickens whenever Cas smiles at him or grazes his skin. He knows it’s too soon and he knows this is insane, but as they go back out and sit with everyone at the table, Dean knows with an irrational certainty that he’s surrounded by his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have more stories I want to tell you about these two dorks, but the tale of how they get together seemed to end here, so I listened. There will be an epilogue on schedule, and then time stamps as I get to them! They'll be about them in the future, figuring out their shit and being dumb/adorable. I can't wait!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I wanted to do this anyway, but then I also got SO MANY requests that I knew I had to. So without further ado, I present to you a gratuitous chapter of fandom sex.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this.” Dean calls out from the bathroom, second guessing everything he knows. _How the hell did Cas rope him into this?_

Oh. Right. _Rope…_

“I’m sure you look amazing; stop being so silly. You do know I’ve actually seen you in that outfit before, don’t you Dean?”

“That was different! That was then, before you, before we, y’know… boyfriends.” He trails off lamely, and can hear Cas snort from across the hall.

“Always articulate. You definitely know the way to a man’s heart.” Cas chides him playfully, though Dean thinks he hears a titch of impatience in his voice. He decides to run with it and make as dramatic an entrance as he can considering this damn getup.

“Oh trust me, Cas, I do,” he calls, making his way into the bedroom. “And it’s through suspenders.”

Cas’ mouth actually drops open. Dean isn’t entirely sure why, since it was true what he said earlier. Cas has seen him in this before, at the dumb Halloween party Sam and Jess dragged him to. He was wearing the same pants, the same suspenders, and the same coat and boots. When Cas had first suggested this he had opted to buy his own red shirt rather than borrow Sam’s; sibling rivalry be damned, there’s something very wrong about roleplaying in your brother’s clothes.

He looks back up from his outfit to make sure Cas is ok, and for a minute his heart stops. Cas is gazing at him with the most gorgeous look on his face. It had taken weeks of Cas constantly repeating to Dean how he felt before he thought maybe, maybe it was real, and this was actually happening. His whole life he’d built up so many walls, taught himself to shut people out so effectively, it was terrifying letting someone in. Step by step though they’ve been building up to this, to trust and understanding, and, moments like these, Dean thinks maybe even love. The sheer adoration and _want_ on Cas’ face is overwhelming, and he loses his nerve being examined like that.

“Who’s articulate now, you... language…teacher.” _Ok granted, not the best insult_. It does at least break the spell Cas seems to be under and has him finally reacting, finally moving.

“Dean….” He breathes the word out like a prayer, and Dean feels his throat constrict under the praise. He tries to make the moment sillier, take away some of this intensity, so he raises his arms in a mock display and turns a slow circle as if he were trying on a normal outfit. When he returns to face Cas he’s surprised to see him mere inches away; Dean didn’t even hear him get off the bed. Cas looks him up and down, slides a hand gently down the length of his arm. He whispers Dean’s name again as he pulls him closer, crashing their lips together as if he had just awoken from a dream.

Cas had mentioned this idea to Dean months ago when they had first gotten together, mostly to tease him and see that gorgeous blush. He had said as much when Dean brought it up the next time. But Cas didn’t let it go, said that if Dean wanted this he wanted it too, and they had agreed to give it a try. Cas usually wasn’t one for roleplay, but he had confessed that he still remembered how good Dean looked that night, and wasn’t opposed to seeing him dressed up like Captain Reynolds again. From those conversations Dean thought that this was mostly Cas appeasing him, indulging a silly fantasy he had been terrified to voice even to himself, let alone anyone else, before Cas weaseled it out of him. Given that assumption, this was going very differently than how Dean expected it to. 

The second their lips meet Cas begins to touch him frantically, hands running all over him, grabbing the leather of the jacket, sliding down the fabric of the new shirt, playfully tracing the trail of the suspenders. Dean’s surprised, but not displeased, and kisses back just as feverishly. He runs his hand through Cas’ hair and grips gently, not enough to tug, but enough to show how much he wants this. He kisses and nips up Cas’ jaw on the way to his ear where he whispers a single word. “Green?”

Cas shudders under the touch and repeats the word back before finding Dean’s mouth again with his own and reaching an even more frantic level of need and urgency. He starts struggling with Dean’s outfit, shoving the jacket sleeves down his arms and trying to tear open the shirt all at the same time. Part of Dean thinks it was stupid that he even got all dressed up if it’s going to be torn off this quickly, but the rest of him reminds him that having his clothes torn off quickly by Cas is kind of always the goal so he shuts up his brain and just lets himself feel. Coming back to himself he feels a hot tongue sliding along his newly exposed collarbone and he completely gives up analyzing anything.

Dean manages to get Cas out of his clothes more easily, since they’re just regular jeans and a tee, but Cas is having more trouble. He only has Dean down to his pants, with suspenders and an unbuttoned and very dishevelled shirt trapped on his torso. Dean takes pity on him and goes to remove it himself, but Cas’ fingers still his when they meet at the suspender buckles. His breath is still heavy but his eyes are calm again, and Dean knows that look: it’s the look Cas gave him at the bar before torturing him with dirty Latin; it’s the look Cas gave Dean when he awoke with him around his dick; it’s the look that spells trouble for Dean in every conceivable way and he is completely powerless in its wake.

Dean takes a big gulp and drops his hands, tilting his head questioningly at Cas. He is answered by the same stare as nimble hands work open every shirt button, and only once that is done does he lean in to kiss him again. Dean’s slightly confused until he feels his shirt being slid off his shoulders while strong hands hold the suspenders in place. _Holy shit, holy shit, is this really happening?_ Dean can’t believe the feeling of the suspender fabric scraping his skin, can’t help the involuntary shiver he gives when it scratches his nipple, can’t help the breath that hitches when Cas stops kissing him to kneel.

“Cas,” he moans, voice already wrecked. He tries to say _you don’t have to, it’s ok, I know you want more_ but under that look again he can’t find the words. Instead Cas slowly undoes Dean’s fly and removes his firm dick, piercing him with his gaze as he takes the whole thing down in one swallow. Cas has learned Dean doesn’t do great with conversation, and Dean’s been grateful that this is mostly respected. But times like these, no words are needed. Cas bobs away, licking up his shaft, stroking the base and tickling behind his balls and along the perineum, all while staring up into his eyes. Dean can hear every phrase clear as day: _it’s alright, I want to; you’re perfect; you’re gorgeous; you’re enough; I want to be here; you’re safe; you’re stunning; I need you._ Dean starts to shake and needs to brace his arm on the dresser but Cas doesn’t slow down, pouring all his desire and affection into Dean through the part of himself he denied for so long.

He knows he’s getting closer, knows he could come like this so easily, but that’s not what Dean wants tonight. He wants Cas, wants to feel him all around him, wants to feel claimed, saved, wants to be Cas’. He barely can force himself to pull away and answer “bed” to Cas’ questioning eyes.

Cas raises his eyebrows but stands up, leading them over to sit on the edge. Before they lie down he properly removes Dean’s pants, which means removing the suspenders too, but he doesn’t discard them together. He tosses the pants to the side but then turns back to a very excited, very nervous Dean.

“We’ve talked about it before, do you want to try it? Your call. I’m going to make you scream regardless.” Dean gasps under that tone, trying to reach a decision. He’s never done this. Never. But he can’t deny how much the idea affects him. In response to Cas’ query he finally nods, once at first, and then repeatedly, more and more frantically, lying back and placing his hands above his head.

“Good boy.” He’s earned it, and the praise goes right to his dick. Cas actually straddles him as he goes about his work, kissing his shoulder here, licking his jaw there, all the while carefully tying his hands to the bed with the suspenders. Once done, he sits back to inspect his work, somehow ignoring the way his skin slides against Dean’s, the way Dean can feel him hard and heavy resting on his stomach. He looks at Dean’s wrists, and then his face, and asks again. “You’re sure?”

Dean nods. “Green,” he gulps, every muscle in his body tense and primed. He has no idea what to expect but he is terrified and desperate for it all at once. Cas smirks, the smile that spells trouble creeping up his cheeks as he slides back down Dean’s body to take him in again.

All Dean can do is whimper as Cas brings him to the edge again. Normally he would wrap his hands in Cas’ hair, or run them along his back. Normally he would try to touch as much as he can, but tonight he’s trapped, bound to Cas’ will. He tugs slightly and feels it biting into his skin, not hurting, but definitely there, and he gasps. He was right, this is _incredible_. He wants to touch Cas, he always wants to touch Cas, but knowing that he can’t, knowing that he’s there for Cas to use, and that Cas _wants_ to do that… it very nearly makes him fall apart.

He’s already a sweaty mess when he feels a fingertip sliding backwards. Cas pauses to look up at Dean, but Dean just nods and scrunches his eyes shut as if that will somehow lessen the sensations. Dean doesn’t hear a click, but suddenly Cas is inching a lubed finger into the first knuckle and he starts writhing, desperate for more sensation yet knowing he can’t handle it for much longer.

“Shhh” Dean hears Cas whisper, trying to help him relax as he breaches him. “Don’t worry, I’m going to go nice and slow.” As soon as he says it he licks up Dean’s length and slides his finger into the next knuckle, slowly twisting to get him familiar with the sensation. But Dean doesn’t want slow. He wants fast and passionate and heat to match the overwhelming emotions he’s already feeling. He wants Cas to take him now, with no more prep. He wants the burn and he needs to feel full, to feel Cas.

“Please,” he manages to whisper. In return Cas crooks his finger and curls it inside causing Dean to buck up into his mouth so fast he’s worried he’s hurt him. His fear’s assuaged by Cas soft chuckle as Dean starts moaning and pushing down on to his finger, and he starts whispering “please, please, please” as if he were begging with an actual request.

Cas pauses and pulls back to confirm. “Dean, please what?” Dean can only squirm more, thrusting back and down onto Cas’ hand again and again. “Please more, perhaps?” Cas slides another finger in alongside him, beginning to scissor him open. Dean just shakes his head while moaning, and it’s really not fair to expect Cas to understand him at this point, though he somehow seems to. “Is this what you want Dean?” Cas looks up and sees Dean’s face, contorted in ecstatic agony, and slides up the bed, bracing his other hand on Dean’s leg, pushing it back ever so slightly. “Maybe even, do you want it all, Dean?”

Dean nods frantically, pulling his knees up to invite Cas in. Cas repositions himself and lets out a breathless “Gorgeous,” as he’s lining up, hand sliding down Dean’s trembling thigh. “Are you sure?” he asks again as his tip butts against Dean’s hole and it’s clear he’s not prepped as much as usual.

In response Dean just pushes into him, taking him in and forcing Cas to match him. As Cas slides in oh so slowly Dean lets loose a litany of “green, green, green” with each one more desperate and wrecked than the last. Finally Cas’ hips bump against him, and he lets out a sigh of satisfaction. After only a second he whispers “green” again, and Cas takes it from there.

Dean is surrounded by Cas in every sense. He can smell him, his rich, warm scent like honey and bourbon hanging over them. He can taste him every time their lips meet, and is left with it lingering when they pull apart for air. All he sees is Cas, and though he can’t touch him with his hands, he’s never felt his skin so alive, never registered every single sensation so strongly. Cas is his whole world, and he’s taking him apart while keeping him safe. He’s so overwhelmed he feels a tear leak out. He tries to rub his cheek against his pillow so Cas doesn’t see but he’s not quick enough.

Cas immediately stops and traces it with his thumb, fingers running through his hair. “Hey, hey, it’s ok. Talk to me, what’s going on?” Dean shakes his head slightly, unable to articulate it. Cas cups his chin and asks him “Dean what’s your colour?”

“Green,” he cries out, shaking his head again to rid him of the pain of feeling so much. Too much. “Green,” he whispers, staring into Cas’ eyes and willing him to believe him.

Finally Cas nods. “Ok. But I’m yellow.” And he reaches above Dean’s head and unties the suspenders binding his hands. As he lowers the wrists back down he kisses each in turn, sweetly, tenderly, almost chastely. “I’ll keep you safe, Dean.” He whispers as he starts to slowly thrust again. “I’ll always keep you safe.” He leans over, holding Dean as tight as he can and grinding into him so much more gently than before.

As Cas kisses his forehead and holds his shoulders Dean knows it’s true, knows this is the real deal, and that Cas isn’t going anywhere. He begins to relax more, and the tears cease, though he cannot stop clinging to Cas as if he were drowning man grasping at a life raft. He can feel himself getting closer, but almost absent-mindedly, like it’s approaching from a great distance and through the mists. He doesn’t really even care about getting off anymore, he just wants to be with Cas, to hold him tight, to be like this forever. It grows closer and closer as he listens to Cas whispering in his ear _I’m right here Dean, I need you, I’ve got you._ As it breaks over him it’s less sudden than he’s used to, but somehow stronger in its calm. Cas follows within a minute and they lay there, blood roaring through their ears, breaths slowing to normal, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

Cas moves first, slowly pulling out and disposing of the condom. Dean groans a little, but it’s more petulant than uncomfortable. When Cas stands to grab a washcloth Dean catches his hand and whispers “Don’t?”

He leans back and kisses him tenderly, “I’ll be gone ten seconds, ok?” After a reluctant nod he leaves to grab a warm washcloth and then returns as promised. He cleans them both up and then wraps himself around Dean under the blankets. “Are you ok, Dean?” He kisses the back of his neck, squeezing his arms once to let him know that he’s here and will stay all night.

“Ya. Just…damn. I didn’t expect it to be like….like that.” Dean trailed off, unsure how to describe the sensations and emotions coursing through him. “Stay tonight? I… I need you.” Dean tucks his chin at the request, and Cas thinks that perhaps he means more than he is saying.

He snuggles against him tightly, pressing his chest to Dean’s back and hoping the love he feels will somehow radiate through them. “Anytime, Dean.” He kisses the back of Dean’s neck again, and hears him start to doze off. As he himself gives in to the waves crashing in his mind, he whispers “Always, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD it's actually done. I have been working on this off and on for so long, and I'm so pleased to have finished and thrilled you guys liked it. Thank you again and so much for all your comments, love, and kudos; they mean the world to me. I promise there will be time stamps in the future, but for now these two are just going to enjoy their newness and bask in it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for joining me guys! Comments and kudos are my life-blood! Come say hi, I live [here ](http://petrichoramber.tumblr.com).


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